


Behind the Curtain

by canicallyoumaddie



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alcohol Usage, Bullying, College AU, Homophobia, Implied Depression/Dark place, Implied Sexual Content, Innuendo, M/M, Marijuana usage/mention, Strong Language, Underage Drinking, musical AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2018-04-20
Packaged: 2019-02-17 15:13:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 24,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13079607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/canicallyoumaddie/pseuds/canicallyoumaddie
Summary: It’s musical season at VU, Lance’s senior year of college, and his penultimate chance to leave an impression the troupe scouts are loath to forget. However, the best laid plans of mice and men often go awry, and a wrench is thrown into his plans to shock and awe when a transfer gets a leading part—and not just any transfer, but Keith Kim, his least favorite recent addition to the theater department. Skeptical of this New Guy’s talent, filled with suspicion of nepotism, and practically green with envy, Lance is going to have to learn how to keep it professional for the fall musical...especially since Keith is his love interest?!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> here is my big bang piece!! I hope you enjoy it--I will be posting the rest as soon as I can; my health and school had slowed me down a little! 
> 
> Thank you to my artist Nevermoree (found [here](https://nevermoree-the-raven.tumblr.com/)) and my beta, LilBird!! 
> 
> Thanks for reading!

“Wait, _what?”_ Lance squinted at the cast list again, trying to read the names, despite the shitty print job. “No. _No way._ Seriously?”

 

“Why the hell are you _mad_?” Hunk asked, leaning to look over his shoulder. “You got the lead, dude!”

 

“ _Because_ , Hunk, I wasn’t auditioning for the _lead!_ Sure, there’s a certain notoriety that comes with that, which is all well and good, but Bungee is a _way_ more fitting part for me. And call me a brat for saying this if you want, but Gordo is not my style at _all_.”

 

_A New Brain_ was going to be the first musical of Lance’s senior year, and would subsequently set the mood for the following productions Lance would hopefully be a part of. He wanted to start things off on a good foot, and his chances of that happening seemed to be vanishing before his eyes. He took a deep breath and tried to calm himself down. Hey, at least he got a part, right? And the _lead_ , at that. Life could be worse.

 

“At least you didn't get the crazy homeless lady,” Pidge remarked, crossing their arms, “I think I'm being typecast.”

 

“Aww, Pidge, it's okay!” Lance ruffled their hair and narrowly avoided a swipe. “It's because you play frazzled so well!”

 

“Mostly because I _am_ frazzled eighty-five percent of the time from dealing with _you._ ”

 

“Wait, Lance, did you see who’s playing Roger?” Hunk asked, pointing to the cast list again.

 

Lance peered at the list again, and face twisted into a look of horror as he read the name. _Keith_ _Kim._ “Oh, _hell_ no.” Lance turned on his heel and strode toward the theater department offices, much to the dismay of his friends. His vision tunneled as he strode with purpose to rectify this _clear_ mistake on Allura’s part.

 

Lance was wrong. Life _couldn’t_ be worse.

 

“Wait, Lance, where are you going?” Pidge called after him. “You know there’s nothing you can do.” Ignoring them, he wrenched open the door with such force that it banged against the wall. He cringed at the sound, sure that he just put a giant dent in the wall, but set his jaw as he stepped further into the department’s suite.

 

“Tell me I did not just hear someone _slam my door_ ,” a smooth, saccharine, and lightly accented voice floated from an office to his left. Lance huffed petulantly and stomped toward it.

 

“ _Allura.”_ Lance moved quickly to stand in the doorway, hands on his hips and scowling. “Where's Coran.”

 

She pursed her lips. “You don't get to demand where my casting director is.” Her hands were carefully folded on her desk, but one finger twitched in agitation. “I assume you’re here because you've seen the list?”

 

Lance’s scowl deepened. “ _Yes,_ and I would love an explanation for this obvious blunder. You _know_ I was cast in the wrong role! And—” He was interrupted by a crash that came from the reception area, and he turned abruptly in the direction of the noise.

 

“Allura, I need to speak with—Oh.” A stocky, dark-haired man stopped short of Lance and glared at him. He was practically bristling at the sight of him. “I see I’m not the only one who’s got a problem.” He cradled his arm, like he had hit his elbow on something when he burst in.

 

“Surprise, bitch,” Lance said, cocking a hip.

 

The man rolled his eyes. “Really? _American Horror Story?_ You don’t even have your own material? _”_ He then turned his attention on Allura, crossing his arms. “I'm sure Lance has already asked to see Coran.”

 

Allura sighed and kneaded her face with her hands in frustration. “Look, neither of us would have endorsed this casting combination on personality alone, but after hearing both of you sing, we had to put you two together.” Her face went slack from exhaustion. “The timbre of your voices is so compatible, and I knew that I would be doing the show a disservice if I passed on this pairing. Besides, Lance, you may have the energy of Bungee, but do you really want to sing ‘Don’t Give In’ eight hundred times and wear tights? Besides, he doesn’t even have that many lines.”

 

“Wow, it’s almost like that's your way of saying my voice wasn't good enough for the part.” Lance’s voice was practically dripping with sarcasm. The look on Allura’s face let him know that he was definitely pushing his luck, but the disdain on his face remained.

 

“That’s not what I’m saying, and you know it. Coran thought it would be better if you played Gordon instead. Besides, if your attitude is anything to go by, you have enough sass for the role—and it’ll be a good opportunity for you to work on your chops,” Allura said, propping her chin up with one hand. “It was a joint decision, but you shouldn't take it out on him. He was just doing what's best for the show, and I agree and support him.”

 

“What's best for the _show?_ ” Keith said, finally speaking up. “You expect me to be Lance’s love interest _without_ puking up my guts?”

 

“Hey!” Lance snapped.

 

“I'm just saying, I don't think I can do this, Allura,” Keith said, ignoring Lance’s retort.

 

Allura’s glare could have frozen a pitcher of water. She laced her fingers in front of her and looked at him directly in the eye. Her response cut through the air with a snap. “Well suck it up, unless you want to get kicked off.”

 

That shut Keith up quickly.

 

“Let me be clear, I want you _both_ in this production. You both are incredibly talented, and I am positive that Coran and I made the right call. _Please_ find a way to make this work,” Allura said, staring the both of them down. The two men refused to look at each other, keeping their eyes glued on their director, but nodded. Allura looked satisfied for the moment, and gestured for Keith and Lance to leave.

 

Keith breezed past Lance, knocking him slightly to the side. Lance scoffed with indignation, but Keith, once again, ignored him. The two parted ways, going opposite directions in the hallway and dreading the impending rehearsals.

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

“Okay, guys, we’re going to go ahead and try to run through a few of the ensemble pieces today, if you all could gather around!” Allura called out, gesturing to the circle of chairs in the center of the room.

 

Lance and Keith pointedly chose seats as far from each other as they could, taking out their scripts and pouting. Pidge sat beside Lance, legs tucked under their body, as they flipped through the book. “It looks like I’m in a shit-ton of ensembles,” they said, clicking their tongue.

 

“At least you don't have to sing _love_ duets with your worst enemy,” Lance grumbled, slouching in the seat.

 

“Oh hell yeah, I get a solo, though,” they said suddenly, halfway through the script. “Multiple, actually. _Nice_.”

 

Lance raised an eyebrow. “You haven’t looked at the script or the sheet music yet? Dude.”

 

Pidge shrugged, replying, “You know I have perfect pitch, man—why would I look at the music beforehand when I can just wing it?”

 

Lance scoffed, giving them a playful shove. “I’ve been listening to the Off-Broadway soundtrack for literally weeks—I’m almost ashamed at how unprepared you are.” Pidge shot him a wide grin, shoving him back and almost knocking him off the chair. “But I can’t say I wouldn’t do the same if I was in your shoes.”

 

Allura clapped her hands. “All right, we’re going to start at ‘911 Emergency’, so if you all could be quiet.” She nodded at the accompanist, who began to play at half-time.

 

After they'd finished a few of the ensemble pieces in the first act, they took a break. Lance looked across the room at Keith, who was listening to the production director, Shiro, with a water bottle poised at his lips. He grit his teeth and crossed his arms. “I hate that guy so much,” he said glaring at his rival. “I mean, can he even sing?”

 

“I think you think he's hot, but you're majorly in denial,” Pidge replied over their own bottle, raising their eyebrows. Lance’s head snapped in their direction, and they leaned back in surprise.

 

“I _do not_ think he is hot. I mean look at his hair—it's horrible. Sure, he can rock a pair of skinny jeans like it's his job, and his face isn't _too_ terrible to look at, but the _mullet..._ it kills the whole bad boy aesthetic he’s got going on,” Lance replied, wrinkling his nose. “He just looks like washed-up Billy Ray Cyrus.”

 

Pidge shrugged, giving him the side-eye. Lance stuck his tongue out at them, and they bared their teeth in response. “Still sounds like you’ve got the hots for him.”

 

“I super don’t,” he grumbled, crossing his arms. Casually, after a moment, he asked, “Incidentally, have you heard him sing before?”

 

Pidge shrugged. “Yeah, he’s pretty good. I think Shiro showed me a video a couple of months ago when he was telling Matt about Keith’s transfer.”

 

Lance raised his eyebrows, settling further back in his chair. “I’ll believe it when I see it. He’s probably just full of shit.”

 

Pidge scoffed. “Sure, Jan, whatever you say.”

 

Lance rolled his eyes and looked around, eyes landing on the man who had practically stolen his role. He was talking to some other cast members, _laughing_ , having a good time... _How dare he have fun when he knows that part should have been mine,_ Lance thought, furrowing his eyebrows.

 

“Are you trying to murder Rolo with your eyes again?” Pidge asked.

 

“No…” Lance replied, tearing his eyes away. “I am doing no such thing.”

 

“Sure? Because you’ve got that constipated look on your face reserved for either Keith or someone else who’s pissed you off, and Keith is over there,” Pidge pointed in Shiro and Keith’s direction.

 

“Would you stop? He’s going to _see_ ,” Lance said, grabbing Pidge’s arm. “I would love to keep from drawing attention to myself at this particular moment in time. We had an…altercation yesterday.”

 

“Oh really? You? Not wanting to draw attention to yourself? That’s new.” Pidge followed Lance’s line of sight, then whirled back to face him. “Wait, _altercation_?”

 

“Har, har,” Lance said, letting his fake laugh trail off as he eyed Keith once more. He didn’t look like he had noticed their scuffle, thankfully.

 

“You keep looking at him,” Pidge commented, poking his arm.

 

“Oh my god, no, I don’t, Pidge.”

 

Pidge threw their hands up in concession. “Of course. Whatever. I don’t know what I’m talking about.”

 

“You’re right, you don’t.”

 

“It’s not my fault you’re such a drama queen,” Pidge grumbled under their breath. They snorted, then returned to their script, flipping through the pages. “But seriously,” they said after a while, “what altercation?”

 

Lance grimaced and placed his chin in his hand. “I may or may not have run into him in the theater office…” He didn't look at them.

 

Pidge whirled around. “While contesting your casting? Dude.”

 

“Okay, first of all,” Lance said, turning to face them, “it was a grievous error on their part, which they attempted to play off as—” air quotes “— _matching timbre_ , which I think is a cop-out.” Pidge lifted a single eyebrow in response, so Lance continued, “They think that Rolo has a better voice for Bungee than I do, and they decided that Keith’s and my voices had to be paired together for the sake of humanity or some bullshit.”

 

“But I mean, that’s good though—they had a specific part in mind for you!” Pidge replied. “They also gave you the lead—that’s already huge for your career!”

 

Lance scoffed and waved a hand in frustration. “Still, Pidge, it’s the principle of the thing. Allura _knows_ how badly I wanted that part and how much I hate Keith, but she let Coran cast me as Gordo anyway.”

 

Pidge opened their mouth to answer, but chose to remain silent as Lance sat fuming, trapped in his own thoughts. He was more than ready to get home and dive into a pint of ice cream and a pit of misery. To his relief, Allura ended the rehearsal early. Something about a business meeting; Lance didn’t care.

 

Later that evening, after working on a paper for his playwriting class, Lance parked himself on Hunk’s couch, pint of mint chocolate chip balancing on his lap with a spoon sticking out of it.

 

“I’m telling you, Hunk—I don’t think I can work with this guy,” Lance said, crossing his arms and sinking further into the couch cushions. Hunk patted his arm sympathetically, and Lance sighed. “I know.” Lance groaned loudly, cramming a spoonful of ice cream into his mouth.

 

“Listen, Lance, I know he’s not your favorite, but everyone who’s seen him perform thinks he’s amazing,” Hunk replied. “Maybe you could just give him a chance? You haven't even seen him sing.”

 

Lance shot him a glare. “No way. That guy sucks. I don’t care how many losers are mooning over him. He basically got _handed_ the part! I’ve worked my ass off to get here,” he said, venom in every word.

 

Hunk knitted his eyebrows together and lifted his hands in concession. “Whatever you say, dude. I’m just saying, giving him a chance wouldn’t hurt.”

 

Lance just scowled at the TV in response. “Let’s just drop it, okay?” He angrily jammed another spoonful of ice cream into his mouth.

 

“Sure,” Hunk replied, shrugging. The two men returned their attention to the movie in front of them; after a few moments of tense silence, the mood relaxed and they were back to normal.

 


	3. Chapter 3

“Shiro, I’m telling you, this is a terrible idea,” Keith said, following his brother around Target. “When you said I should come here and join the department, I didn’t realize I’d be painting a target on my back!”

 

Shiro stopped in front of the bananas and turned to look at him, sighing loudly. “Keith, you’re blowing this out of proportion.”

 

“No, I’m not! Lance was furious! I can’t be the love interest to a guy like that—who hates my guts,” Keith insisted, growing frustrated; his brother just didn’t seem to _get it_. Lance despised Keith and showed no signs that he planned to stop antagonizing him.

 

Shiro sighed and moved Keith out of his way so he could grab some fruit. “Keith. Chill. He’s probably just jealous. It’ll blow over in no-time.”

 

Keith floundered for a moment before retorting, “You don’t know that! What if it jeopardizes the show?” _Why does he seem so fucking unconcerned, here?_ Keith thought, baffled. _He seriously can’t think that it’ll just turn out_ okay?

 

Shiro paused, and Keith could tell he hesitated, albeit for about a millisecond. “Allura won’t let that happen.”

 

“But how can you be sure?” Keith prodded, finally pushing Shiro to his breaking point.

 

Shiro’s eyebrows twisted into a frown, and Keith could tell that he’d gone too far. “Seriously, stop. I know you’re stressed about it, but rehearsals haven’t even gotten into full swing yet. We did _one_ table reading. I know you know what Lance’s chops are like, but I’m positive the only reason he’s acting this way is that he thinks I got you a free pass because we’re related,” Shiro said, frowning, “He probably has no idea of how talented you are.” Keith was somewhat taken aback. Shiro rarely lost his cool, but he’d clearly pressed a few too many of his older brother’s buttons.

 

Keith glared at his shoes, scrutinizing every scuff and slash in the rubber. With a great deal of effort, he finally conceded. “Okay,” he said, “I’ll let it go.”

 

Shiro placed a hand on Keith’s shoulder. “It will be fine. I can guarantee that when Lance hears you sing, he’ll shape up.” He gave Keith what he probably thought was a reassuring smile—to Keith, it looked more like a grimace.

 

Keith sighed heavily. “I just hope you’re right. I mean, I can barely stand the guy, but he’s practically the favorite of department,” Keith replied, leaning back against a shelf. “I’m way lower down the totem pole, and people already don’t like me that much. It’s almost as bad as it was at GGU.” _Except at GGU people at least knew I belonged there, even though they all made my life a living hell,_ he thought bitterly. Granted, he left to get out of a terrible situation and work toward getting himself healthy and clean, so the ‘leaving all your friends behind and moving to a different school’ part wasn’t necessarily something he regretted.

 

“Oh, Keith,” Shiro said, shaking his head, “people like you!” He looked at Keith anxiously. “Is it really that bad?” Keith could see the concern in his brother’s eyes and felt his gut twist. Shiro just didn’t understand what it was like to be a transfer his senior year—he’d been uprooted, had barely any social skills, and now had some wannabe Barbra Streisand being a huge dick to him.

 

His brow furrowed as he wracked his brain, trying to think of a way to give Shiro a better picture of the ostracization he felt from Lance. All Keith could think of was to correct Shiro’s current perception of his relationship with Pidge and Hunk. Sure, he was close with them, but that didn’t mean that they weren’t the only friends he had. He tried to reason with him—“Pidge and Hunk don’t count, Shiro. I’ve known Pidge forever because of you and Matt, and Hunk is just a general angel. It doesn’t help that they’ve been best friends with Lance for years, though,” Keith replied. “Their loyalties are divided.”

 

“I don’t think that’s very fair, do you?” Shiro asked, facing him and crossing his arms.

 

Keith huffed. “It doesn’t matter whether it’s fair or not—that’s the reality. I don’t have any friends, because Lance is obviously discouraging people from befriending me.”

 

“Don't think of it like that, man,” Shiro said, ruffling Keith’s hair. “I’m sure after a few rehearsals, people will get a clue. You deserve to be here, brother of mine or not. It’ll work out, I promise.”

 

Keith still looked skeptical, but nodded. “I’ll give it a little more time.”


	4. Chapter 4

Allura clapped her hands together to get everyone’s attention. “Okay, guys, we’ll be working on small ensembles today, since really there are only songs, and the sooner we get rough blocking for some of the simpler parts sorted out, the better.”

 

The cast shuffled around to take seats in the chair circle. Awaiting instructions, Lance noticed that Keith was sitting a few chairs closer than he had been the previous rehearsal.

 

“Looks like he may not hate your guts after all,” Pidge said, eyes glinting. They adjusted their glasses and tucked their feet under them as they sat.

 

Lance shot them a look of disdain and crossed his arms. “Well, I still hate him.”

 

“Lance, you, Nyma and Bee are going to rehearse the first two numbers,” Allura said, gesturing toward the other side of the room, where a pianoforte sat. “We’ll get the logistics taken care of in here before we move to the stage. Rolo, get ready to join after a little while during ‘Calamari’.”

 

Lance trudged over to the piano and sat down. Placing his hands over the keys, he abruptly turned to face Allura; “Wait, do you want me to play the song while I sing it?”

 

Allura paused for a moment, then replied, “Yeah, if you can sight-read it.” She sounded a little exhausted.

 

Lance grinned, reaching out to take the sheet music held out to him. “Totally.” Placing it on the stand, he cracked his knuckles and prepared to play through it. _Now we’ll see who’s more talented, huh, Keith?_ He thought.

 

With every line he sang, Lance could tell he was nailing it. He was pretty sure it wasn’t what Allura was looking for at the moment, but Lance was more focused on showing off than following her direction _exactly,_ anyway _._ He’d already begun injecting his own sense of sass into the character, which went over _awesomely._ He saw the looks on his castmates’ faces; fond pride coming from Nyma, a silly face from Pidge, and...was that...?

 

_Well_ , if Keith got to see how multitalented he was, that was just a happy accident— _Ugh, why do I keep trying to_ care _?_ Lance thought, shaking his head to clear it. _It’s not like I care if Keith sees me play piano._ His eyes wandered (with _out_ his permission, of course) back over to his surly love interest, and he saw that Keith’s mouth was slightly ajar. An unbidden thrill zipped up Lance’s spine.

_–Wait, you should be playing right now. Stop ogling._ Buckling down and completing the scene, he followed Allura’s direction to “downstage,” where a table was set up for the next one.

 

The next song began, thanks to the accompanist, and the number progressed smoothly. The chemistry between Nyma and Lance was obvious; no one was surprised, though—the two of them had been cast across from each other for years. Being close friends didn’t hurt, either. During the scene, Lance couldn't help but flick his eyes over to Keith, trying to figure out whether he was watching. He grinned inwardly when he saw Keith staring with his lips slightly parted. He nearly fumbled a line in his distraction and noticed Allura raising her eyebrow. _Whoops. Should get my head in the game._

 

Before they knew it, more of the cast members were added to the ensemble as the numbers got more complex. Soon it was time for Keith to join in. Nyma and some sophomore named Izzy started the number, and Lance lay in wait, anxious to appraise Keith’s mettle for himself.

 

_Roger has arrived—hallelujah_

_Roger has arrived_

_From a boat, looking fit—_

_Roger’s always damned appropriate, give him your fear—_

BWEEEP BWEEEP BWEEEP.

 

BWEEEP BWEEEP BWEEEP.

 

“Okay, everyone, I think we need to evacuate the building—it appears someone has set off the fire alarm,” Allura said, raising her voice above the din. “Please move quickly! We’ll pick this up in a moment.”

 

_Well_ that _was convenient, right before Keith had to do his part..._ Lance thought, slightly disappointed, as he followed his castmates out of the building. _But if we’re lucky, we’ll get to go home early._


	5. Chapter 5

 

That weekend, Nyma threw her annual semester kick-off party. She and Rolo owned the perfect party house; it had two stories, a giant TV, and even a second-floor balcony over the backyard. Lance and Pidge were taking a break from the loud music to watch the alley, throwing ice chips at people who walked by. After a little while, a tuft of white hair stood out in the darkness, along with a glint of metal and light reflecting off a pair of heavily-rimmed eyeglasses.

 

"Keith! Shiro!" Pidge shouted, waving their arm to get the men’s attention. Keith acknowledged them with a brief wave and headed up the stairs to the balcony, leaving Shiro to go into the house through the side door.  


Lance scoffed as he approached and asked angrily, "What are you doing here?"  
  
"I bet you thought you'd seen the last of me," Keith said, smirking as he readjusted his glasses, and Pidge choked on their drink. Keith's eyes glinted in the strobe lights that incrementally illuminated the dark room behind them.

  
"Wait, seriously? You actually do watch AHS," Lance said, incredulous. “Shit, I just thought you were referencing the meme.”  
  
"Um, duh?" Keith replied, "Do you think I live under a rock?" He pursed his lips, unamused.

  
"I mean, your fashion sense would indicate otherwise," Lance replied, casually examining his fingernails with a smirk.  
  
"Ohhhhhhhhhh," Pidge yelled, clearly drunk already. The two men stared at them, and they shrugged. "Burn."  
  
Keith rolled his eyes, then took a look up and down Lance's body, checking out the man's outfit. "I don't think you have any room to talk, string bean."

  
Lance gaped at him. "String bean? _String bean_?" He took a step closer, getting in Keith's face. "I'll have you know, I am quite muscular."  


“Sure, whatever you say, Carl.”

 

“I am! Pidge can vouch for me—can’t’cha, Pidge? I work out!”

 

Pidge just rolled their eyes into their drink. “Nuh-uh. Neutral party.”

 

“ _Pidge!_ I can bench just as much as Keith can.” As he whirled on Keith, Lance’s face was getting red with agitation; despite warning signs, Keith just didn’t know when to quit.

  
"Oho," Keith huffed, "can you now? So when I saw you struggling with those boxes the other day that was what, for show?"  
  
There was an audible crunch as Lance crushed his beer can. "Excuse me?"  
  
"You heard me," Keith said, raising both his eyebrows challengingly. They stood nose-to-nose, eyes locked onto each other.

  
Suddenly, they found themselves being pushed apart with a yell; once separated, they whirled to look angrily at the perpetrator.  


Hunk glared at them in response, effectively shutting down any retorts. "Stop. Both of you," he said, frowning. "Seriously, this is supposed to be a fun night out, what the hell?"  
  
"Keith was being a dick!" Lance said, shaking off Hunk's grip. "Why the fuck is he here, anyway?"  
  
"Because Nyma invited me, asswipe," Keith interjected, and Lance lunged for him.  
  
"Whoa, whoa, whoa! What is going on here?" Shiro said, diving from the doorway and grabbing Lance under the armpits, holding him back. "Keith, what did you do?"  
  
"Wha—why is it always my fault?" Keith shouted. "I just came up to say hi, and Lance started antagonizing me from the get-go!" He held Shiro's gaze, pursing his lips in defiance.  
  
"Lance, you've gotta stop antagonizing Keith," Hunk sighed, kneading his forehead in frustration. "You know he's just going to respond in kind."  
  
"Let go, Shiro, I'm not gonna attack him," Lance said, stepping away once Shiro loosened his grip. "I wasn't even being mean, I was just playing, damn. Sorry you took it too personally, mullet." He crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes at Keith.

  
Keith was fuming but silent as he turned on his heel and stalked into the house. Lance looked away, but the other three looked at each other expectantly until a groan captured their attention.  
  
"I'll go get him," Pidge said, glaring at each of the men in turn. "Seriously, I may be the youngest but you guys are so fucking immature…," they grumbled as they walked away.

 

Pidge found Keith nursing a beer downstairs in the kitchen, skulking in a corner and not talking to anyone. Leaning against the wall next to him, they tapped his cup. “The keg any good?”

 

Keith shrugged, continuing to sip his drink.

 

“Listen, Keith, I know Lance can be a jerk, but you’ve gotta stop letting things get to you so easily,” they said, grabbing the cup from his hand and taking a swig. “He literally _lives_ to rile people up. Especially you.”

 

“What’s his fucking problem, though?” Keith grumbled, holding his hand out for his drink. Pidge passed it to him, and he took a long pull.

 

”How much time d’you got?” When Keith gave them a flat look, they sighed. “Honestly? You don’t want to even know,” Pidge replied ominously, piquing Keith’s interest.

 

“What do you mean?” He asked, chewing on the edge of the cup.

 

Pidge sighed, leaning their head back against the wall. “I _mean_ it’s none of your business. Just...trust me on this, okay? He’s got a lot of shit on his own to deal with, and he sometimes takes it out on people who don’t deserve it.”

 

Keith frowned, then moved away to take another crack at the keg. Pidge followed him over to the other side of the kitchen, resuming their pose against the wall once there.

 

“I wish he didn’t have to take it out on me, though. I didn’t really do anything to him. At first I thought he was a cool guy—I was even looking forward to working with him. But then I got to the university and joined the department, and he’s been nothing but a major asshole to me,” Keith said, sighing heavily. “Like, did I do something wrong without realizing it?”

 

Pidge sighed, then patted Keith on the arm. “Well, if you ask me, I think he’s being unreasonable and should just suck it the fuck up. But I don’t think he even knows anything about you. Or if he did, he wouldn’t admit it. I think he’s refused to watch your old shows on principle, though. He wants to still feel like there’s a reason to be mad at you—otherwise, he has nothing else,” they said. “And just between us, I think he’s jealous.”

 

Keith chugged his beer and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Well, I guess we should attempt to go rejoin the group, huh?” When Pidge looked over at him in surprise, he shrugged. “You and Hunk were awesome about getting Nyma to invite me, but Shiro is the one who knows half the people here. There’s no point in me just standing down here alone when my only friends are chilling with my alleged arch nemesis upstairs.”

 

Pidge nodded and began to drift toward the door, waiting for Keith to follow them. “You know,” they started, trudging up the steps, “if Lance knew for sure you were gay, I’m sure he’d be a little less of a dick to you.”

 

Keith spluttered, taken aback at the random and invasive comment. “What do you mean ‘ _If he knew you were gay_ ’?”

 

“Oh, come on, you haven’t seen the way he literally ogles you all the time?”

 

“What...what the _fuck_ , Pidge?”

 

Pidge laughed all the way up the stairs and just laughed harder when Lance asked them what was so funny.


	6. Chapter 6

“If everyone but Gordon and Roger would come with me, we’re going to start going over some of the blocking for the full-cast numbers,” Shiro said, gesturing to the door that lead to practice rooms. “Lance, Keith—you’re going to learn ‘Sailing’ today.” He gave Keith a pointed stare. “ _Play nice.”_ Keith just huffed and rolled his eyes.

 

The room was quiet, empty chairs still in their circle; the piano was open, and Lance went to sit on the bench. “I wonder who’s going to be accompanying us…” Lance muttered, lightly pressing on keys so the notes were distorted.

 

Keith stiffened, glaring at the piano. “Could you stop that? It’s really annoying,” he said, crossing his arms and moving to sit in one of the chairs. Crossing his legs soon after, he practically radiated hostility. He didn’t have to say anything—his closed position did that for him.

 

“Hello?” Someone asked, cautiously entering the room. “Are you Lance and Keith?” A young woman stood before them, clutching sheet music in one hand and tapping her leg furiously with the other.

 

“The name’s Lance,” Lance said, smiling and shooting her a pair of finger guns. He got up from the piano bench and sauntered over. “The one and only.”

 

Keith rolled his eyes in exasperation, but stood and introduced himself, too. The woman smiled, looking relieved to have found who she’d been looking for, and she stuck out a hand for each of them to shake in turn. “I’m Shay—I’m going to be working with the solos and duets for the show. I guess you both are my first duet.”

 

“Sweet,” Lance said, reaching down into his bag to grab his own sheet music. He glanced at Keith, who was retrieving his own materials, and frowned. “Here goes nothing,” he murmured to himself.

 

Shay had taken a seat at the piano and gestured for the two of them to stand over her shoulder to watch. Stretching her hands, she said, “I’m going to do a quick sight-reading, and then I’ll play the song once through for you to get used to the tempo it’s going to be played in the show.” The two men watched as she ran through the piece, fingers adroit as they memorized where they needed to go.

 

After practicing silently for a few minutes, she shuffled the music and started to play. Lance’s eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he followed along with the notes on paper.

 

Keith couldn’t help but look over at Lance, even though he was the main soloist (and should have been paying attention). His eyes eventually flickered back to the page, however, and he began to audiate the notes in his head. When the piece came to an end, Shay looked up at them and waited.

 

Lance cocked his head toward Keith, who cleared his throat. “I think we can go ahead and go through the song, if that’s okay with you,” he said. “Lance, do you want to sit out this time around?”

 

Lance furrowed his eyebrows, then looked at the music again with uncertainty. He didn’t come in until more than halfway through the song. Pursing his lips, he shrugged. Taking that as a “yes,” Keith turned to Shay. “Why don’t we run through my part first, and then Lance can go over his part?”

 

Shay nodded and flipped back to the first page of the song. “I’m going to start now. Ready?” She asked. Keith nodded and planted his feet squarely on the ground. Shay began the piece, and Keith watched for his place to come in. He suddenly felt self-consciousness creeping in, so his entry was a little shaky, but after a moment, he regained his confidence. His voice soon was gliding through the air, surrounding them in tendrils of longing.

 

Lance stood there thunderstruck while Keith sang. He’d never heard Keith sing before; he wasn’t there for his audition, and since Keith was a transfer, he hadn’t been in any of their college’s productions. Keith’s voice was so… _smooth_. Like a cello, it was rich and warm, and the sound filled Lance with emotions he hadn’t felt in a long time.

_Oh_ shit, Lance thought, _this guy is playing my love interest and his voice sounds like_ that? _How the hell…_ He shook his head violently, trying to get rid of the feelings. He was so focused that he failed to notice the music had stopped.

 

“Uh, Lance?” Keith’s voice cut through Lance’s thoughts. _Oh fuck_ , Lance thought. _Exposed._

 

“Yeah?” He asked, swallowing hard.

 

“You okay?” Keith asked, eyebrows furrowed.

 

“Oh, yeah, totally,” Lance lied, “I just felt something fall onto my head.” _‘Felt something on my head?’ What the fuck, Lance,_ Lance screamed at himself internally, trying not to make a face.

 

Keith gave him a puzzled look. “Okay…” He looked back at Shay. “We can keep going, sorry about that.”

 

She nodded and continued, and Lance had to sit down for the remainder of the piece. His palms grew clammy as he realized that Keith was _way_ better than he was. He was good, sure, but not _that_ good. Keith’s voice was on another _level._ He was so focused that he completely zoned out and jumped when the other two suddenly turned their attention onto him. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t a little rattled.

 

“—ance? Are you ready?”

 

Lance blinked owlishly and tried to compose himself. “What?” He asked.

 

“I asked if you want to go over your part now.”

 

Lance stood up abruptly and shuffled over to the piano. “Yeah, sure,” he replied, peering over Shay’s shoulder. He was as stiff as a board—a far cry from the relaxed demeanor he possessed earlier.

 

“We can start a few bars before you come in, if that’d be easier, Lance,” Shay said, flipping the pages accordingly.

 

Lance nodded and made sure that his weight was distributed evenly over his hips. After taking a few deep breaths and centering himself, he looked expectantly at Shay. At his cue, she started to play. The timing was weird—singing alone—since he was echoing what Keith would be singing, but he tried to focus on getting the timing and pitches down. As he went over the piece, he failed to notice Keith looking at him with an expression of shock not unlike his own just a few moments earlier.

 

Keith watched Lance as he sang, feeling warmth start to build in his chest. _This is weird,_ he thought. _He’s way better than I thought. I can see where the hype about him comes from._ When Shiro suggested he transfer to VU, he watched a few performances in which Lance was cast, but there was a difference between watching a grainy home-video and seeing the real thing. If he was being honest with himself, it brought some very confusing feelings to the surface. _I’m playing this guy’s love interest...we have to sing songs more romantic than this one, and I already feel like someone’s squeezing the air out of my lungs after only a few bars..._ he thought, anxiously popping his knuckles, one by one. He couldn’t even look directly at Lance without feeling a strong twinge in his heart.

 

Lance was just about finished with his part, and Keith pulled himself back into reality. When he finally stopped, and the piece ended, he looked over at Keith expectantly.

 

“Do you want to try it together, this time?” Lance asked. Keith’s heart jumped.

 

“Yeah,” he replied, nodding quickly. “Let’s run through it together.” He stepped over to Lance, stopping just slightly behind him. Lance turned and shook his head, placing a gentle hand on Keith’s arm to guide him in front.

 

“Here, I’m taller,” Lance said, dropping his hand, “I can just look over your shoulder. Besides, you’re singing first.”

 

Keith nodded, then looked to Shay to start the piece. “Whenever you’re ready,” he said. _For the love of god, relax_ , he thought to himself.

 

Shay began to play, and Keith’s rich, colorful voice filled the room. Although it was his second official run-through, he already seemed to have a good grasp of the words and notes. Lance was so focused on the billowing sound of Keith’s voice that he nearly failed to come in on time. Thankfully, Keith had given him a little nudge a few bars before, and he collected himself enough to sing. The way their voices blended together and complimented each other was enough to emblazon the last lines into Lance’s brain:

 

_And I’d rather be sailing,_

_Yes, I’d wanna go sail,_

_And then come home to you._

 

The three of them ran through the piece several more times, making adjustments here and there where it was pertinent. Shay looked at the clock and started to gather her stuff. “Well, that’s a couple of hours. My cue to head out. You guys are great—I’m sure I’ll see you both frequently over the next few months!” Shay said. The two men nodded, thanking her for her time. They didn’t look at each other as they gathered their belongings and left the rehearsal hall.

 


	7. Chapter 7

Their interactions continued like that, practicing for hours, then leaving without mincing words. It was the best way for Keith to escape without making an ass of himself; if he could just keep his head down and his egresses speedy, he could avoid the flush that always seemed to creep across his face whenever Lance sang. Unfortunately, he was forced to confront the butterflies that had taken up residence in his stomach a few days later, after a particularly grueling Saturday workshop.

 

“Yo, Keith!”

 

Keith turned in confusion toward a voice he had _not_ expected to ever sound that jovial when directed at him. He slowed his walk, giving his nemesis(?) the opportunity to catch up.

 

“What’s up, Lance?” He asked, ogling thoughtfully as his castmate bent over to catch his breath. Lance’s hair was slightly damp and plastered to his forehead, and Keith watched a little bead of sweat drip off his nose. _What the fuck? Did he_ sprint _here?_ Keith thought.

 

Lance righted himself, running a hand through the mop on his head and grimacing at the texture. It took him a few moments of gulping down air before he could speak.

 

“So I’ve been thinking—you don’t have a lot of friends, right?”

 

Keith’s lip curled into a scowl. “You could say that.”

 

With little to no regard for his personal safety, Lance continued to push. “Well, my friends and I want to go to Soundwaves soon, and we were wondering if you’d want to come?”

 

“Like…”

 

“Do you want to come sing shitty covers of nineties songs for karaoke with us—yeah.”

 

Keith blinked furiously, completely caught off-guard by the...surprisingly _friendly_ invitation. He couldn’t help but wonder if Lance was really aware of how much extra time together that meant they’d be spending. Keith might not necessarily mind, but he was pretty sure Lance would.

 

“And you’re sure you don’t want someone like me messing up your night?” He asked.

 

“What you you mean ‘ _messing up your night’_? I wouldn’t be inviting you if I didn’t think it’d be fun, dumbass.” What usually would have been a harsh comment sounded...wait... _flirty?_ What the hell?

 

“Besides, Pidge might cry if you don’t.”

 

A snort escaped Keith, unbidden. “Well, if they’re gonna throw a fit about it, I guess I have to go.”

 

“You gotta.”

 

Keith looked up at the soft look on Lance’s face and felt his heart lurch. _What the fuck?_ _Why? Are you just fucking with me?_ Lance wanted to hang out with him? In public? And do _karaoke_ , one of the most unintentionally intimate things you can do with a person? Since their duet rehearsal, things had been a little awkward, and they’d barely spoken. Keith had avoided Lance like the plague, but only because he kept remembering the fluttering in his chest when Lance sang.

 

“Why the sudden interest?” He asked, crossing his arms tightly. He was hoping the gesture would be a tourniquet that would stop his feelings from bleeding out, but he had no such luck.

 

“What do you mean?” Lance’s face twisted into a look of confusion, and Keith released the breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

 

“Well, you never showed any interest in being friendly towards me before now.”

 

Lance blushed violently, puzzling Keith further. “I just thought it’d be fun, and good practice for rehearsal. And…—” a smirk crept onto his face“—the karaoke bar makes _great_ Tequila Sunrises.”

 

Keith had to work to keep his jaw from dropping. “You just want to get me drunk.”

 

The demure look Lance gave him in return _had_ to be fake. “Guilty as charged.”

 

“Alcohol is shit for your voice, though.”

 

Lance gasped, placing a palm over his heart. “Are you saying that my voice isn’t strong enough to overcome the effects of a little _alcohol_?”

 

Keith rolled his eyes. “That’s not what I was saying,” he said.

 

Keith could _hear_ the smirk in Lance’s voice and instantly regretted everything. “That sounds like a challenge, Mister Kim.”

 

“That’s _not_ what that was, Lance,” Keith said. He slapped a palm over his eyes when Lance stuck his fingers in his ears and looked anywhere but at him.

 

“La, la, la, I can’t hear you over the challenge you just issued me!”

 

Keith peered through the gaps in his fingers and sighed dramatically. He would _not_ be goaded, damn it! He would _NOT!_

 

Unfortunately, his mouth was writing checks his brain couldn’t cash.

 

“Fine, you’re on,” he heard himself say. "But I'm not singing nineties songs!" _Oh, no, no, no, Keith, what are you_ doing!? He thought frantically. _That’s exactly the opposite of what you should have said. Are you a moron? Do you want to die tonight? Because that’s how people die. Beautiful boys kill them with a look and their voice and...fuck._ His catastrophizing skidded to a halt when Lance grinned at him and winked.

 

“Fine. The battle commences at nine p.m. on Friday,” he said, saluting him briefly before sprinting off, leaving a trail of dust in his wake.

 

“Wha...Lance?” Keith was left asking empty space as he watched those long, tan legs rush away. They were so bewitching, his brain short circuited.

 

“God, he’s hot,” he muttered, then immediately gasped and clapped a hand over his mouth. “I didn’t just say that. _Ugh_ , stop talking to yourself!” He stomped off, original destination forgotten thanks to the fever dream he just experienced.

 

#

 

Keith was fucked. He knew it the moment he walked into his closet. He resisted the urge to scream as Pidge sprawled on his couch, legs sticking into the air as they perused their phone.

 

“So whatcha’ gonna wear?” They asked, watching amusedly as Keith ran around like a chicken with his head cut off, trying to find an outfit for karaoke.

 

“Pidge…” his voice drifted from the depths of the closet. “Help.”

 

Pidge threw up their hands and rolled ceremoniously off the couch, hitting the floor with a _thud_. “Don’t make me do that—you know I have zero fashion sense. Besides, Lance probably just wants you naked anyway.”

 

They smirked at the strangled noise that erupted from the bedroom. They traipsed in and flopped onto the bed, pretending to mull things over. “I _guess_ I’ll help you. Don’t say I never did you any favors, though—you owe me one.”

 

Keith poked his head out. “Pidge, I don’t think you’ve ever done me a favor.”

 

“Well, lucky you, now I have!”

 

Keith’s voice was muffled as he yanked a shirt over his head, “But really, can you be serious for a sec and let me know whether I look like a total asshole or not?” He stepped out of the closet and held his arms out, turning slowly so Pidge could get a good look at the simple black tank top and black jeans he was wearing.

 

They put their chin in a hand and squinted, hemming and hawing before replying, “You’re wearing that?” They had to duck quickly to avoid being hit with a shoe. “Hey, hey! I was kidding, jeez. It looks fine, dude. Do you not see what I’m wearing?”

 

They sat up to give Keith a better look at their white, cuffed short-sleeved shirt and brown overalls. “I look fly as hell, but in a sloppy casual way.”

 

Keith rolled his eyes. “Yeah, but you aren’t trying to get some, either.”

 

“OH my god,” Pidge yelled, eyes widening. “You didn’t just admit that.”

 

Keith turned a violent shade of red and tugged the bottom of his shirt up and over his face. “Shut up.”

 

“Oh my _god,_ you totally meant it, too! Holy shit! You’re trying to impress Lance so he’ll fuck you!”

 

“How do you know I even meant that _I_ was trying to get some? Because I never explicitly said that,” Keith said. “I think that he thinks that I don’t wanna be friends, so he’s overcompensating? Maybe he’s just being nice?” He couldn’t stop tugging at his shirt, so he lunged back into his closet to find something to throw over the black tank top he had on.

 

Pidge choked out a laugh. “He’s definitely overcompensating, but it’s not just because he’s trying to be nice.”

 

Keith’s head snapped in their direction. “What do you mean by that, exactly?”

 

“You’ll see,” they sang, dodging yet another shoe as they scrambled back into the living room. “Stop trying to kill me!”

 

“Does Lance even know you’re with me?” Keith said, tugging on a pair of mismatched socks before his black Docs. “Also come back and help me figure out whether I should tie this around my waist or put it on with the sleeves rolled up.”

 

Pidge stuck their head back into the room and gave him a cursory glance. “Oh shit, I actually don’t know what to tell you. But I think that Lance has a weakness for shoulders more than forearms.” They grinned and ducked back out before they could get pegged with other heavy accessories.

 

“Fine, I’m putting it on!” Keith said, rolling up the sleeves so they ended just below the elbow and making a point to keep his shoulders _covered_. He turned to the mirror over his door and ran his hands aggressively through his shaggy hair. “But you didn’t answer the question.”

 

“No, he doesn’t. I thought we’d surprise him by showing up together. I don’t think he’s quite picked up on the fact that we’ve known each other for literally forever and actually talk frequently.” Keith could hear the couch squeak as they launched themselves back onto it. “Even though we don’t _actually_ hang out. Which is a little rude.” There was an implicit smile behind that last gibe, and Keith chuckled a little.

 

“Well won’t _he_ be in for a surprise when we show up.” He walked back into the main room, and Pidge gasped.

 

“Is that a motherfucking _chambray shirt_ you have on?” They said, leaping up to look at him. “Oh my god, you _are_ trying to impress him.”

 

Keith flushed and moved to slip the button from his body. “No I’m _not_ , Pidge, all my flannel is dirty…” They zoomed past him into the bedroom, rifled through his closet, and came back with an armful of plaid flannel shirts.

 

“Oh, you mean _these_ plaid flannel shirts?” They said, raising an eyebrow and dumping them at his feet. “These _very dirty, not in your closet at all_ flannel shirts?” A smug smile crept over their face. “You’re dropping the edginess because you want Lance to see Soft Keith.”

 

“ _No_!”

 

“Soft Keith is a good look for you, though. Brings out your stormy gray eyes,” they cackled. “But I _promise_ , if Lance gets a look at you in that getup, you gonna get _laid,_ son.”

 

Keith stooped to gather the shirts Pidge had dropped onto the floor, and shot them a dirty look. “I’m not going to change, but only because we’re running fifteen minutes late and you know Hunk is gonna be pissed.”

 

“Oh shit, you’re right,” they said, snatching up their bag and keys and stepping into their shoes by the door. “Come on, come on! You’re molasses!”

 

“Pidge! _God_!”

 

Keith chucked the flannels into the bedroom, snagged his keys out of the basket by the door, and the pair headed out to meet Lance and Hunk for karaoke.

 

#

 

Keith and Pidge drove the short distance to Soundwaves, putting them around twenty minutes late, much to Hunk’s disapproval. He had snagged a table near the entrance, where it was just quiet enough to talk, but they still were able to hear each singer. Keith waved as they approached, and Pidge broke off to hit up the bar almost immediately.

 

After a moment, it became very apparent that there was an empty chair next to Hunk. Keith furrowed his brows and felt his anxiety increase; Lance was nowhere to be seen. Hunk seemed to notice, giving him a knowing look and asking, “Looking for someone?”

 

Keith choked. “No.”

 

“You _sure_?” Hunk pressed, raising his eyebrows suggestively. Keith had little time to recover before a smooth voice made him choke all over again.

 

“What’re you boys talking about?”

 

Keith’s eyes snapped up to Lance’s face as he joined them at the table. His smug expression gave Keith butterflies he desperately needed to quench with alcohol. Unfortunately, his nervousness came off as more irritation than anything, and in his discomfort, he got up to join Pidge. Perhaps even more unfortunately, he missed Lance's look of disappointment as well as the _pat_ of consolation he received from Hunk.

 

“Pidge.” They turned at the sound of his voice, lips grasping at a pair of straws stuck in the whiskey sour in their hand.

 

“What’s up, buttercup?” They asked, taking a long draw from their drink.

 

Keith scoffed and, reluctantly, ordered himself a Tequila Sunrise. Pidge snickered as he took a sip, and he gave them a dirty look. “Shut up.”

 

“Lance told you to order that, didn’t he?” They had a smirk on their face that made Keith’s stomach drop.

 

“...Why are you asking that?”

 

Pidge grinned. “This is amazing. I don’t know how he knew, or if he just guessed, but someone must have told him that you get _wild_ when you drink tequila.”

 

Keith gave them a look of suspicion. “Did you…”

 

“No, it wasn’t me. Honestly, I think he just wanted to get you drunk, and tequila was the easiest way. Boy, is _he_ in for a surprise.” Their eyes widened. “Wait…”

 

Keith’s heart clenched. “What?”

 

“He doesn’t _know_.” Pidge shot him a sly look and Keith furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. Pidge huffed and took another long sip of their drink. “That you’re gay.”

 

Keith nearly spit out the mouthful he’d just taken. “ _Excuse_ me?”

 

Pidge had a manic grin on their face. “This is _amazing._ Oh my god, his brain is going to explode.”

 

“What are you talking about?” Keith demanded.

 

“He doesn’t know he has a shot with you yet.”

 

Keith scoffed. “What makes you so sure he _does_ have a shot with me?”

 

Pidge gave him a deadpan look. “Seriously.”

 

Keith shrugged.

 

They rolled their eyes and gestured to his outfit. “I’m going to ignore you, because if we both know _anything,_ it’s that you’d trip over yourself if he showed interest.”

 

“Okay, then, _genius,_ how do you know I have a shot with _him?_ ” Keith asked, pulling a face at them.

 

“Do you see how you’re dressed right now?”

 

Keith looked down at the light denim shirt and ripped black jeans he had on. “What do you mean?”

 

“It’s like you peered into his mind and saw what his type is.”

 

“How the fuck do _you_ know what his type is?” Keith asked, crossing his arms and furrowing his eyebrows.

 

Pidge smirked and gave him the side-eye. “I have my ways of finding out information.”

 

Keith rolled his eyes. “Fine, don’t tell me.” He took a thoughtful sip of his drink and nonchalantly added, “...But you’re serious? I’m his type?”

 

Pidge had the biggest shit-eating grin on their face, and Keith regretted even trying to clarify. “Nevermind, forget I even asked,” he grumbled. He sighed wearily and sat heavily on a stool.

 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Pidge said, patting his arm. “And yes, I’m serious. He likes ‘em pocket-sized.” They winked at Keith’s scowl. “I’m kidding. He’s into,” they gestured to all of him, “this.”

 

Keith snorted as he ordered another drink. “Sure, sounds great.” Looking anxiously over his shoulder after picking up his glass, he added, “Well, I’m gonna, uh...head back to the table, now. They keep _looking_ over here.”

 

Pidge saluted him and he rolled his eyes before making his way back over to the guys. He couldn’t help but notice the smile that appeared on Lance’s face as he approached.

 

“Hey! I was beginning to worry you got kidnapped!” Lance said, scooting his chair over slightly as Keith squeezed in next to him.

 

“Ha, no...Pidge was just hassling me to buy them another drink. I resisted, though. You know what they say about giving an inch.”

 

Lance laughed. “No kidding? Well, I’ve already put my name down for a song—you gonna sing?”

 

Keith shrugged. “Maybe? I’ll need a few more of these first.” He rattled the ice in his fresh glass. “I don’t usually sing much pop music.”

 

“You could sing Broadway!” Hunk said, reminding him that there _were_ other options.

 

Keith nodded thoughtfully, then shrugged again. “We shall see.”

 

“Lance Álvarez?” The man in the booth called Lance’s name, who sprung up from his seat and made a beeline for the stage, winking over his shoulder.

 

“Get ready, you guys—I’m gonna knock your socks off.”

 

Hunk had a sneaky grin on his face that made Keith feel uneasy.

 

“What?” He asked.

 

“Oh, nothing,” Hunk said. “You’ll see when he starts performing.” As if on cue, a uptempo dance beat started to play, and Keith’s eyes widened.

 

“Are you _kidding_ me?” Pidge said, materializing out of the shadows. “He’s singing _this?_ ”

 

Keith was floored, because from where he sat, it looked like Lance was singing to _him._ “He is _not_.”

 

Hunk was grinning like a fool. “Surprising, right?”

 

Keith couldn’t keep his eyes off Lance (as he sang _Nick Jonas_ , of all things), with the chorus reverberating in his ears:

 

_I know, we can get higher_

_There’s levels to your love_

_Yeah, there’s levels to your love_

_And I know, we can get higher_

_There’s levels to your love_

_And I keep on climbin’ up_

He could feel Lance’s eyes all over him as he sang, and he started to heat up under his gaze. Something about the song—the upbeat electro-pop style that really was entrancing—always put Keith in the mood to _move._ His shoulders began moving involuntarily; his dancing only coming to his attention when he saw a grin erupt on Lance’s face.

 

_All this heat keep rising,_

_Make you stop, drop and roll,_

_I’m bottlin’ up the lightning,_

_Supernatural—_

Keith almost had a stroke when Lance punctuated the second line with a sensual body roll pointed in his direction. His shoulders hit his ears when he heard Pidge cackling behind him. _Dammit, Pidge, fuck you and your thoughts you put in my head_ , he thought, turning around to glare at them. He mouthed, “I’m going to murder you,” which only made them laugh harder.

 

Lance was finishing up the chorus, once more bringing Keith back to the real world, even though it was becoming more and more suspiciously like a dream.

 

“He’s got a hell of a voice, don’t you think, Keith?” Hunk said, raising an eyebrow and smirking at him.

 

Keith couldn’t even bring himself to lie. “Hell yeah,” he breathed. “He’s incredible.”

 

Lance finished the song with a pose, then a bow and a huge smile before handing back the mic and hopping off the stage. He returned to the table like a war hero, immediately turning to Keith when asking, “Did I blow your socks off?”

 

Keith balked and pretended to check his shoes. Holding up a be-socked foot, he shook his head. “They seemed to have survived. Hooray.” He added a half-hearted air punch at the end of the statement.

 

Lance sat heavily into his chair with a pout, glaring at him. Hunk laughed and reached over to pat him on the shoulder.

 

“It’s okay, buddy—you knocked mine off!” Hunk said, sending Keith a pointed look. Keith shot him an unamused look back and sunk back into his now-watery Tequila Sunrise.

 

“Keith! You should sign up to sing!” Lance said, so suddenly and loudly that Keith nearly fell out of his chair. After taking a moment to recover, he sighed.

 

“I dunno, Lance,” he said, playing with the straw in his drink. “I’m not really _there_ yet.”

 

“You will be! Chug that, I’ll buy you another while you sign up, and by the time it’s your turn, you’ll be just the right amount of smashed to sing a smash hit.” Lance waggled his eyebrows at the surly man next to him, who slammed back the drink and grimaced.

 

“Fine. You buy me _two_ drinks, and I’ll go up there.”

 

“Fuckin’ _deal,_ man. Go, go, go!” Lance shooed him off to the DJ booth, where he approached the guy with hair down to his shoulders and an equally impressive mustache loading tracks onto the computer.

 

The man lifted a headphone from one ear and squinted at him. “Gonna sing?”

 

Keith nodded, and the man held out a clipboard with a dangling pen. “Name, song, artist. We’ll call you up when it’s time.”

 

“What songs do you have?” Keith asked. The man scoffed.

 

“We can get it if you wanna sing it,” he said. “Just write it down.”

 

Hesitantly, Keith scratched the pertinent information down and practically slammed the clipboard onto the table, raising some eyebrows from the guy. _“Sorry,_ ” he mouthed before hopping down from the booth. On his return to the table, he noticed the familiar orange and red drink sitting in front of his chair, supplemented by a shot glass.

 

“What is this?” He asked, gesturing to the shot as he grabbed the cocktail at his seat, taking a long draw from it.

 

“Tequila.”

 

Pidge choked on their whiskey sour, and Keith shot them a glare. “Thanks.” Clinking his shot glass against Lance’s, they tapped the table before knocking them back together. The liquor burned slightly, but it was dulled by an already-present buzz that had begun to trickle throughout his body. “Fuck yeah, okay. I think this will be fine,” he muttered, slumping back into his seat.

 

“What song did you pick?” Lance asked, eyes bright with curiosity.

 

“You’ll see.”

 

“Aw, man!”

 

Lance started pouting again, and Keith rolled his eyes. “Dude, chill. You’ll find out soon enough.” He frowned when Lance ignored him in favor of talking to Hunk.

 

“You’re playing it _too_ cool,” he heard a voice whisper in his ear, “you’re losing him.”

 

“Pidge, shut up,” he hissed back, nervously looking at Lance, who was mercifully oblivious.

 

“I’m just saying,” they said, “you can see him deflating from space.”

 

“What do you suggest?” He whispered, ever keeping an eye on the tall drink of water to his left.

 

“You should touch his arm more. Touch _him_ more. Let him see you’re into it.”

 

Keith looked nervous, which was not lost on Pidge. They patted him on the arm and sighed. “You’ll be okay. I can tell he’s been wanting to initiate contact but has been holding back because you’re, well...you.”

 

“Really?”

 

Pidge nodded. “Really. Go for it, dude.”

 

“But–“

 

“Pidge! What’re you talking so intently with our boy Keith over there?” Lance said, jarring Keith out of his thoughts.

 

“None of your damn business!” They yelled over, giving Keith one last subtle pat on the arm.

 

Lance huffed. Keith eyed him nervously, hesitating a moment, before taking his chance and placing a hand on his arm. “They’re just being a pain, don’t worry about it,” he said, startling when Lance’s head shot up like a bullet at the touch.

 

“What?” Keith demanded, lifting his hand from Lance’s arm and instantly regretting his decision to initiate contact.

 

Lance blinked at him slowly, then shook his head. “It’s nothing, sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you.”

 

Keith frowned, replying, “You didn’t do anything. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” He could tell that Lance noticed the space he’d started to put between them; Keith saw the small slump in his shoulders once he had done so. Gritting his teeth, he leaned a little closer and flicked his head toward the person who was onstage, singing Taylor Swift. “What do you think of this guy?”

 

Lance scoffed, relaxing instantly and leaning back so his ear lined up with Keith’s mouth. “This guy? Amateur hour. Bearable tone, but no finesse,” he said, mouth tilting dangerously close to Keith’s face.

 

“Agreed. I forgot how painful it is to go here when you’re a real musician,” Keith replied, fully aware that each warm breath was ghosting over Lance’s ear. He saw a tiny shudder ripple down Lance’s spine as he spoke, and he couldn’t help but grin a little.

 

Lance nodded vigorously, nearly clocking him in the nose with his head. “You’d think that–“

 

“–Keith Kim?”

 

Lance’s mouth snapped shut as he realized it had just become Keith’s turn on the mic. Keith’s eyes widened and he took a large gulp of his drink before getting up to head to the stage. He flushed bright red at the sound of Lance and Pidge hollering encouragement, tucking his head away from the crowd as he took the mic. Taking a few deep breaths, he steeled himself and stared at the monitor intently as the intro to the song began to play. _Maybe I shouldn’t have gone with this one, shit—well, too late to do anything now._ Keith willed his thoughts to stop as he counted the beats until he could come in. Taking a deep breath, he just thought _fuck it_ , and rocked.

 

_And hey, would you_

_Like to look outside sometimes_

_I’m just with my friends online_

_And there’s things we’d like to change._

_Next thing you’ll find you’re reading ‘bout yourself_

_On a plane, fame, what a shame_

_Oh, well just keep looking, looking, looking, looking–_

Keith was into it, now. More than into it. He looked Lance—who was frozen in his seat, wide-eyed as he watched—dead in the eye and sang the chorus straight to him:

 

_And love me_

_If that’s what you wanna do, oh–_

_And love me_

_If that's what you wanna do, oh_

 

The look on Lance’s face was priceless, and Keith’s attempt at seriousness went out the window and was replaced by a huge grin. _I fucking_ got you _, bitch!_ he thought, powering through the next verse and preparing to hit Lance again with the chorus.

 

Meanwhile, Lance was having an honest-to-God stroke back at the table.

 

“Pidge.”

 

“Mmmmhmm?”

 

“ _Pidge_.”

 

“Yeeeeap?”

 

“What the _fuck_.”

 

Pidge gave him the most lewd smile and he choked. “Fuck you.”

 

“I’m sorry, that’s not in my wheelhouse.”

 

“Did you know he could do this?” Lance asked, desperately trying to keep his shit together. “Where the hell is this coming from? Who is this pop _god_?”

 

“This is Tequila Keith. You brought this on yourself,” Pidge replied. A smug smile was transfixed on their face. “Like what you see?”

 

“Like what I–Pidge, what the fuck, of _course I like what I see_.” Lance glanced around for a drink, throat suddenly more dry than West Texas. “I just didn’t know that this is what I would be seeing tonight.”

 

“Buckle up, buttercup. You got Soft Keith _and_ Tequila Keith tonight.”

 

“Holy _shit._ ” His eyes stayed glued to the man onstage.

 

“Holy shit is right, dude. And I swear, he dressed himself on his own.”

 

Lance looked at them with wide eyes. “You mean to tell me that he already owned that shirt?”

 

Pidge shot him a finger gun and clicked their tongue. “Bingo.”

 

He clutched his chest. “ _Oh god._ How did he _know_?”

 

Pidge shrugged. “He didn’t.”

 

“This is crazy.”

 

Hunk laughed and clapped him on the back. “You seem a little shell-shocked, my man.”

 

Lance flailed his arms and whined. “I can’t help that I’m weak for bad boys with soft sides, Hunk—I’m only a man.”

 

“I know, buddy,” Hunk replied, patting him sympathetically on the arm. “I know.”

_Love me_

_And love me_

_If that’s what you wanna do, oh_ —

 

Lance watched as Keith threw him the sultriest look he’d ever seen before bowing and grinning. His heart was going a mile a minute as Keith dropped off the mic and headed their way, rapidly approaching the table with a smug and triumphant smile on his face.

 

“What’d you think?” Keith asked, stopping in front of him and leaning casually on the waist-height table.

 

Lance barely could get a sentence out in response. “I–it was great,” he choked out, sending Hunk a helpless look. “Good job. Great voice. Great song choice. A-plus all around.”

 

Keith didn’t seem to be expecting that comment; his confident persona dropped with his eyes and a blush crept across his cheeks.

 

“Oh. Well, thanks. It was admittedly more fun that I thought it would be.”

 

“You’ve got some killer chops, I will give you that,” Lance admitted, giving him a wry smile. “I may have been upstaged this night.”

 

Keith grinned and shrugged. “I dunno, you did pretty well yourself.” He leaned in close and whispered in Lance’s ear, “And I lied. You _did_ knock my socks off earlier.”

 

Lance felt his face heat up, and he ducked his head out of embarrassment. “You’re just saying that,” he mumbled, unable to keep a small smile off his face.

 

Keith didn’t move—he was still _so_ close—as he said, “Doesn’t mean it isn’t true.” His warm breath tickled Lance’s ear as he spoke, making him shiver.

 

“G-got it.” It took all his self control to keep from melting into a puddle at Keith’s feet, but he _just_ managed it. Keith _winked_ at him (oh god) before sashaying off to the bar to presumably get another drink.

 

The rest of the night was spent watching two bachelorette parties fight over the mic to sing old-school Britney or Spice Girls, giving the friends plenty of time to get pretty hammered. Unfortunately, that just made Pidge sleepy, so Keith didn't get any action that night. When the two cabs pulled up to take them all home, Keith remained outside to stand awkwardly in front of Lance. Hunk and Pidge had already gotten into their respective cabs, leaving the pair staring at each other in the light of the street-lights.

 

"Thanks for inviting me," Keith said, holding his hand out to shake Lance's. Lance looked at the offered hand and grasped it with his own, slowly moving it up and down.

 

"No problem." He suddenly yanked Keith forward into a tight, slightly-sweaty hug. It caught Keith a little off-guard, but he couldn't deny how warm his embrace was. It was nice, albeit a little awkward. "I'm glad you could make it."

 

"How else would I have known I'd whup your ass so well at karaoke?" Keith said, muffling a laugh in Lance's shoulder.

 

Lance squeezed him once, then let go and gave him a scandalized look. "You did not _whup_ me! If anything, it was a tie."

 

Keith smiled. "Sure it was. Just keep telling yourself that."

 

They stood like that for a moment until Pidge rolled down the window to yell, "Hey you're burning the meter! We're too poor for this!"

 

Keith have Lance an apologetic look and a sheepish wave, stepping away to join Pidge in their cab. Lance watched the door close, then climbed into his cab to join Hunk.

 

Hunk gave him a knowing look, and Lance nudged him with his shoulder.

 

"Oh, hush," Lance muttered, trying his best to hide a smile. "He was just thanking me for the invite. Stop planning the wedding."

 

Hunk shrugged and grinned. "I didn't say a thing."


	8. Chapter 8

“We’re here!” Lance yelled as he and Keith sprinted into the rehearsal hall, panting heavily. “We’re here.”

 

All eyes were on the two of them, then Allura, then the clock hanging above the doorway. Allura stood in the center of the circle of chairs, tapping her foot impatiently.

 

“And what time do you think this is?” Allura said, tension straining her voice.

 

“Um...five thirty?” Keith ventured, glancing over his shoulder at the clock above him. It was five forty-five. _Fuckin’ shit_.

 

“Wrong,” Allura said with finality. “You both are fifteen minutes late and will be striking the set today.” The men groaned, prompting Allura to hold up a hand, “Oh, no, you don’t get to complain. You set us back by nearly thirty minutes, now—it’s the least you can do for the stage hands. And if you bitch about it, you get to do it tomorrow, too.”

 

Keith and Lance hung their heads in shame and trudged to the open pair of chairs nearby. Slumping into them, the pair couldn’t help but sneak glances at each other and smirk. They were too preoccupied with each other to notice the raised eyebrow Pidge was giving them across the room.

 

Rehearsal went about as well as to be expected: Allura was pissed, so she kept messing up her cues and finally just ended the rehearsal out of frustration. Keith and Lance felt a little guilty, but not _too_ guilty. Unfortunately, they still had to strike the set at the end of the day, and it was a prop-heavy rehearsal; curtains, the hospital bed and multiple chairs were left onstage, along with the bedsheets, which Lance left in a pile, to Keith’s dismay.

 

Picking them up, Keith grimaced. “Seriously, Lance? You couldn’t be bothered to fold them up?” He asked, pulling them off the bed and carrying them to the utility room. “Lance, stop dicking around and help me!” He called over his shoulder. He didn’t bother looking up to check whether Lance had followed him into the room.

 

He heard rummaging, which he ignored, but he whirled around when he heard an “Aha!” from the other side of the room.

 

In his surprise, Keith screamed, then doubled over with laughter. “Oh my _god_ what _is_ that?!” He shouted, pointing.

 

“How do I look?” Lance said, voice muffled by the frog headpiece he had on. He struck a pose and began vogueing, making Keith laugh even harder and nearly collapse on the floor.

 

“You _freak_!” Keith said once he’d gotten his shit together, and walked over to yank off the mask. He made a sound of indignation when Lance hopped away, easily evading his grasp. “How can you even see out of that?” He asked, raising an eyebrow and failing to suppress a smile.

 

Lance pointed to the nose holes of the costume, and Keith nodded sagely. “Ah, I see.” His smile had turned into a full-blown grin, which he now knew could be seen.

 

“Hey, hey, check this out,” Lance said, gently moving Keith out of his way before beginning to tap dance. “Ha, cha-cha!”

 

Keith spluttered, then began to laugh harder than he had been before. “What the _fuck_?” He covered his face with a hand and laughed into it. “That is the most..oh my god, Lance.”

 

“See, I knew you’d think it was—” Lance, who had just pulled off the frog mask, stopped short and stared at Keith, whose eyes were squinched shut as he guffawed, and felt his face start to heat up. “—funny.” _Hoo boy_ , he thought.

 

“What?” Keith asked, wiping his eyes with his sleeves. “You okay, man?” His face was flushed, and his eyes glistened as his face broke into a smile. “Hey, why the long face?”

 

Lance looked up once he had placed the mask on the ground. “Hm? Oh, nothing, sorry, I think the fumes from in there made me a little woozy. Rolo has some _serious_ B.O.” He smiled when Keith snickered.

 

“Be nice, man, it’s gotta be rough wearing that thing,” Keith said, reaching over to shove him gently.

 

“Hey, I didn’t tell the costuming department to go this route. I once saw another university’s production of this, and they literally painted the dude _green_. It looked hella uncomfortable, but the effect was terrifyingly amazing,” Lance said, poking the mask with his foot. Keith rolled his eyes and went to pick it up so it wouldn’t get any dirtier. Silence filled the room for a beat.

 

“You really wanted that part, huh?” Keith asked, breaking the silence and dusting off the mask.

 

Lance sighed and shrugged. “Yeah, well…” He leaned up against a shelf. “You can’t always get what you want. Gordo isn’t so bad, though. I know I can do a good job in this role, too. It’s just outside my comfort zone, honestly.”

 

Keith nodded, turning the mask over in his hands. “I can see that.”

 

“I mean, I guess Allura knows best—if I’d been cast as Bungee, I wouldn’t have had the chance to actually play a role that would help me grow. I know that if I don’t actually push myself I won’t get any better, so what’s the point in staying stagnant, you know?” Lance said, shuffling his feet.

 

“I understand what you mean. My old university was...well, let’s just say it was a rough situation. Shiro had been working here for a while, so I thought I’d ask if I could give him an audition tape to pass on to Allura,” Keith replied, not meeting Lance’s eyes. After silently deliberating for a moment, he added, “I got in fair and square, by the way. I know you don’t really believe me, but it’s true.”

 

Lance stared at him, dumbstruck. It hadn’t occurred to him that Keith could have found out he had thought that Keith didn’t get in on his own merit. He stepped forward, sheepishly reaching out to him. “Keith…” He retracted his hand when Keith moved away from him.

 

“What? It’s true, and even if someone _hadn’t_ told me you were thinking that, I couldn’t have missed it. You looked at me like you wanted to set me on fire, dude.”

 

Lance shrunk back. “I’m really sorry, Keith. I truly am. But just so you know, I don’t think that anymore. You have every right to be here.”

 

Keith sighed, looking up at him and attempting a smile. “Thanks, Lance. I appreciate it.”

 

Lance smiled back, then looked around at the mess they had neglected to clean. “Well,” he said, clapping Keith on the shoulder, “guess we better clean this up, huh?” He grappled with the rolling curtains, trying to move them inside. “Oh, fuck, these are heavier than I thought they’d be,” he grunted.

 

Keith laughed, moving to help him, and the two grinned at each other. Keith’s heart twisted a little in his chest as they finished cleaning up; Lance’s demeanor toward him had totally changed. The warm feelings threatened to turn sour with doubt, which Keith shook off and tried to shove into a corner. He could spend time to overthink this... _whatever_ it was...later.


	9. Chapter 9

Keith sat at the bar nursing a beer as he checked his phone for the billionth time.

 

< **Pidge** >

> hey sry got held up @home

> I’ll buy u a drink i swear

< _pls help_

< _guys are leering_

> good! That means you look 100

< _still_

< _uncomfortable_

> well, take a shot or 2

< _..is that a good idea_

> swear, i’ll take care of u dw

< _your words_

< _time to get fukt_

< _dude my day was ass tbh I need it_

> see you soon

> be safe

> ly bye

< _see u soon_

 

He sighed. Those texts happened fifteen minutes ago, and he’d already taken a tequila shot…

 

He eyed the bottle of Jose Cuervo on the shelf and put his chin in his hand, contemplating.

 

“Tequila man, huh?”

 

Keith turned, startled, towards the voice coming from his right. “Excuse me?”

 

The man pointed to the shelf behind the bar. “Tequila. Unless you were looking at the rum, but honestly, you don’t look like a rum guy.” He looked Keith up and down appreciatively, and Keith felt his face get hot.

 

Keith gave him another look, squinting in the sudden strobe lights that had come on. The pink and purple lights reflected off his white hair, pulled back into a long ponytail.

 

“You’re right,” he said. “But I don’t think that’s fair to make snap judgements about a stranger.”

 

The man smiled, revealing a set of very white teeth.

 

“Maybe we can arrange for that to change,” he said, taking a seat.

 

Keith was surprisingly charmed by his bold moves, finding himself grinning and basking in the attention. He was so enthralled by this man’s beautiful face that he realized he totally forgot the name the man had provided. Thankfully, he didn’t seem too interested in talking for very long.

 

An upbeat song came on, thanks to a new DJ, and Keith’s suitor gave him a suggestive look.

 

“Wanna dance?” He asked, already standing.

 

Keith paused for a moment, taking time to look up at tall, dark and handsome. _Fuck it._ He hopped off his stool, slammed down the last of his beer, and shoved his phone into his front pocket eagerly. The man smirked and the pair joined the sweaty mass of bodies milling around on the club floor.

 

Keith followed dutifully, weaving through the crowd in a buzzed haze before being spun around and held to the other man’s chest from behind. He felt his face heat up again as they began to move together, the bass reverberating in sync with his heartbeat. He could feel his face flushing as hands snaked around his middle, fingers just grazing the hem of his shirt. He tensed in surprise at the touch, before letting the buzz of the alcohol melt through him.

 

He reached up to wrap an arm around his dance partner’s neck, appreciating how warm and soft his skin was. He closed his eyes, feeling himself drift away, out of his body, as the booze and music replaced his last remaining inhibitions. It didn’t take long for those hands around his waist to turn him around to face...What’s-His-Name—Hot Guy. Keith hummed in delight, letting his arms drape over wide shoulders; white hair gently brushed across his flushed arms.

 

He felt a hand leave one of his hips and his brows furrowed, unsure of what was happening while his eyes had fallen closed, until he felt it cupping his jaw, lifting it upward. His breath caught in his throat. Is he really doing this? _Am I going to finally make out with a stranger in a club?_ He thought. _Holy shit_ – _!_

 

His thoughts came to a screeching halt as his lips met others. All rational thought had officially flown out the window. A set of hands tangled in his hair, tugging him slightly closer. Their bodies were pressed tightly together, and Keith heard his blood roaring in his ears as he made out with this beautiful stranger. Pidge was a complete afterthought.

 

#

 

Meanwhile, Pidge had been doing some wrangling.

 

They’d asked Keith to go to the Castle Bar with them, to which Keith had enthusiastically agreed. He’d flunked an assignment in one of those stupid Gen Ed classes he still had to take, and he desperately needed something to take his mind off it.

 

Pidge’s solution? Blackout or back out at the only gay bar in town. A super fun, super inclusive, reasonably-priced gay bar in the middle of their shitty college town? Sign Pidge the fuck up.

 

That afternoon, on their way back to their apartment, they ran into Lance as he was on his afternoon run.

 

“Pidge!” He jogged over to them. “Hey! What’s going on? What’re you doing on this fine day off from rehearsal?”

 

The gears had started turning the moment they saw him, and they grinned.

 

“I actually wanted to go to Castle—wanna come?”

 

Lance’s face lit up. “Hell yeah! Sounds awesome.” He started jogging in place, looking at his watch. “Listen, I gotta finish this mile, but I’ll see you there?”

 

“Yeah,” they said, “I’ll pick you up?”

 

Lance shot them a pair of finger guns. “Hell yeah. See ya.”

 

Pidge watched him jog off with a wily grin on their face.

 

“Today shall be the day Lance finds out Keith’s secret,” they cackled.

 

“What?” Lance had stopped, turning back and taking out an earbud. “Were you calling me?”

 

Pidge clapped a hand over their face. “No, Lance—see you later.”

 

“Oh! Cool.”

 

They rolled their eyes as they watched him disappear around a corner. “Weirdo.” They decided to go to their own home, get ready, and finish hashing out plans with Keith.

 

When it came closer to the time to go, Pidge realized they made a grave mistake, offering Lance a ride—Lance was chronically late. And not just a “five or ten minutes” kind of late; he was pushing thirty. Keith had started to panic, and Pidge was pissed.

 

They loved the kid, but it really pissed them off when he did this. Right before Pidge had decided to leave his sorry ass behind, he burst into their apartment.

 

“Ohmigod I’m so sorry, holy fuck—my prof made me come in for office hours, and _then_ I couldn’t pick an outfit so I let Hunk help and you know how indecisive he is…” He wheezed, having to bend at the waist to catch his breath.

 

Pidge rolled their eyes. “You owe me a drink, dumbass. You could have at least texted.”

 

“My phone died!”

 

“I bet you were dicking around on candy crush. _Again_.”

 

“Pidge,” he whined, “cut me some slack.”

 

Pidge crossed their arms and blew a few strands of hair out of their face. “You get slack when you learn how to be punctual.”

 

Lance pouted, making them roll their eyes again. “Now that you’re here, let’s go—it’s already stupid late, and the Castle will be super crowded.” They continued to fail to mention that _Keith_ would be there; it behooved them both to keep it a surprise.

 

Besides, Pidge couldn’t wait to see the look on Lance’s face when he saw Keith at a _gay_ bar. It was almost too perfect—the pieces would start to click together in Lance’s head, and if they were lucky, his brain would _explode._

 

After ushering him out the door, Pidge crammed them both in their tiny car and headed toward the Boardwalk, where the Castle Bar sat smack-dab in the middle of the street.

 

While walking toward the red-brick building in with the LED lights lining every ridge, Pidge shot Keith a text saying they were almost inside. It was mildly concerning that there was zero answer, but they thought he just may not have heard it.

 

“You ready?” Lance asked them, face already lit with excitement. “God, it’s been so long since we had a Saturday off—bless Allura.”

 

Pidge nodded, handing the bouncer their fake and sharing a knowing look with the giant man. “Bar?” they asked, turning back to Lance as he took back his ID and slipped it into his wallet.

 

“Fuck. Yes.” Lance said. “Lead the way, my man.”

 

Pidge weaved through the crowd with expert ease, planting themself in front of the bar. They surreptitiously looked around for a shaggy mop of black hair, but found none. Lance nudged their shoulder. _Whoops, not as subtle as I thought._

 

“Who are you looking for?”

 

Pidge blinked at him, so he tried again. “Who are you looking for?”

 

Pidge shook their head and smiled. “What do you mean?” they asked. “Nobody.”

 

Lance narrowed his eyes and handed them a drink. “Fine—don’t say.” He pointed at the cocktail. “That’s for being late. Sorry, again.”

 

Pidge had already zoned back out, looking around. Lance started getting annoyed and leaned down to get in their face.

 

“Pidge, what the fuck,” he said, frowning. “Seriously, don’t lie. Who are you looking for?”

 

They looked at him with a conflicted expression, eyes flicking between the crowd and his face. They locked eyes after a moment, and Pidge sighed. They pointed, resigned, toward the crowd and Lance saw a flash of long white hair accompanied by jet black.

 

“Pidge, what…” He squinted, trying to get a better look.

 

“Keith. I was looking for Keith.”

 

Lance whirled on them, eyes wide. “Pidge, what the fuck…” He turned around to look, once again, at the two people on the dance floor, slowly recognizing one of them as Keith.

 

He looked at Pidge desperately, then back at Keith and the long-haired person he was with. _Shit, he is straight after all, what the fuck? He likes girls?_ Lance furrowed his eyebrows. _Maybe he’s bi? I mean, he_ is _at a gay bar…_

 

Thoughts raced through his head as he tried to puzzle out who Keith might be... _Oh_ fuck _, making out with?_ He heard a loud groan from Pidge and gathered they saw him, too.

 

He noticed Keith and his dance partner slowly turning so Keith’s back would be to them, and…

 

Lance’s jaw hit the floor. _That is_ definitely _a guy._ After giving the man a second look, Lance found himself mentally congratulating Keith—that dude was _fine._

 

“I cannot McFucking believe it,” Pidge was muttering behind him, typing angrily on their phone. Lance watched as Keith’s makeout buddy stopped them and gestured to Keith’s pocket. He must have felt it vibrate.

 

Surely confused, Keith took out his phone, but immediately whipped his head around to the bar, and his face...lit up?

 

Now it was Lance’s turn to be confused. “What did you _tell_ him?” he asked, eyeing Pidge incredulously.

 

They shrugged. “I said I was here, that’s all.”

 

< **Keith Kim Possible** >

< Hey dumbass

< look at the bar.

< your problematic fave is here

< stop sucking face and say hi

 

#

 

Keith shifted his gaze from his phone to the bar at light speed. At the sight of Pidge, his face lit up.

 

“Do you know them?” Hot Guy asked, and Keith turned to look up and meet his eyes.

 

“Yes, I’m really, really sorry—I had a great time dancing, but my friends are here and I need to go meet up with them.” He had already started moving away as Hot Guy reached out to take his hand.

 

“Well, before you zoom off, could I get your number?” he asked, once again flashing him those pearlescent teeth.

 

Keith briefly considered giving it to him, but then looked again at Lance, who was standing by Pidge at the bar. From where Keith stood, it looked like his eyes were the size of dinner plates. Shaking his head, he gave Hot Guy an apologetic smile.

 

“Sorry—I prefer not to give out my number.” He started wading through the crowd, but not before quickly turning back to shout, “You’re a really good kisser though!” As he turned back around, he caught a few intrigued glances shot Hot Guy’s way and felt a little less bad for abandoning him on the dance floor.

 

 _Hopefully you’ll find someone more interested than I am in the after party, Hot Guy,_ Keith thought. He bobbed and weaved through the mass of bodies in between him and the bar like a man on a mission.

 

(Which was actually fairly accurate.)

 

Keith practically bounded up the steps to greet his friends, but felt a sliver of ice run up his spine at the sight of Pidge’s expression. That expression said only one thing: “ _You done fucked up.”_

 

“I know, I’m sorry. You don’t have to lecture me,” Keith said quickly, managing to speak before he received a tongue-lashing. Pidge grabbed the neck of his shirt and yanked him down to their level.

 

“I’m mad at you, but you managed to carry out my mission for me, so I’ll spare you today.”

 

“Your...mission?” Keith asked. “What do you mean?”

 

They gestured toward Lance, who was now enchanted by the lights flashing over the dance floor. “That.”

 

“Yeah, _thanks for the warning,_ Pidge,” Keith said, frowning at them. “What do you mean by ‘ _that’_?”

 

“So I may have brought him here under false pretenses because I wanted him to find out your little secret.”

 

It dawned on Keith what this “secret” was, and he glared at them. “That’s not a _secret_ , Pidge. Literally everyone _but_ Lance knows.”

 

“Which is why I took this amazing opportunity to enlighten him!” Pidge replied. “Come on, be at least a little happy he knows.”

 

“You’re acting under the assumption that his knowledge of my sexual orientation will prompt him to make a move,” Keith said, casting a furtive glance in Lance’s direction. They made eye contact. _Oh crap._

 

“Do you guys mind including me in this conversation?” Lance said, leaning his head in close to listen in.

 

Pidge sighed. “It’s nothing, Lance. I just brought you here without warning Keith first, so he was surprised to see you.”

 

Lance lifted an eyebrow. “Oh, really? I was a little surprised to see _you_ here, but now that I saw that display, I’m not anymore.” A smile played across his lips as he spoke, and he draped an arm around Pidge’s shoulders. “Right, Pidge?”

 

Pidge looked up at him with raised eyebrows. “It’s no surprise to me.”

 

Keith blushed and he rubbed the back of his neck. “You saw that, huh?”

 

“Yeah,” Lance said, unable to hide his smirk. “You were going at it pretty hardcore before Pidge texted you that they were here.”

 

“Oh, god.”

 

Lance gave him an exaggerated shrug and added, “And who would have thought you had _game_? Damn, dude.”

 

Keith snorted, still feeling euphoria from his intoxicated state (and that _kiss_ ), and he started to laugh. “That’s what you’re concerned about? My _game_?”

 

“Hey, I was giving you mental high-fives from over here.”

 

Keith’s laughter devolved into a good-natured groan. “I can not believe that,” he said, playfully punching Lance in the arm. “Do I get a gold star, now? Or are you jealous?”

 

Lance rolled his eyes, but his smile stayed firmly planted on his face. “Me? Jealous? Nah.” He reached over and lightly punched Keith back, feeling his face start to warm up.

 

Shortly thereafter, in true drunk fashion, Keith’s attention span ran out and he decided it was time to get more drinks. He grabbed both Lance and Pidge’s hands and dragged them over to the bar.

 

“Shots, shots, shots!” Keith chanted, practically throwing his card at the bartender. Pidge slid a five dollar bill and an apologetic look over the bar and the man accepted it with a dramatic eye-roll.

 

“Drunk Keith is in his final form,” Pidge said, disentangling their limbs from Keith’s. “I have no idea how much alcohol he had before now, but I’ll have you know, he normally has zero game and is the most awkward person alive.”

 

Lance cackled, turning around to lean his back against the counter. “Really? Wow.” He looked over at Keith, who was enthusiastically requesting a number of drinks to go with the shots. “Wouldn’t ever have guessed.”

 

“I hope that’s sarcasm, because he’s not subtle about how terrible his social skills are.”

 

Lance clapped them on the shoulder. “Come on, buddy, he’s not _that_ bad. I’ve definitely seen more awkward people.”

 

“I guess not–“

 

“–The fun has arrived!” Keith said, sliding the variety of drinks he bought over to his friends. “Lance, I forgot what you got last time we went out, so...here’s a Tequila Sunrise. Pidge, here’s your whiskey sour, and then like, seven different shots because I got carried away.”

 

“You sure did, buddy,” Pidge said, laughing and throwing their arm around Keith’s waist and squeezing him with a hug. “You’re a good friend. But I’m driving later, remember? So you’ll have to give Lance my shots.” However, they did swipe their cocktail from the bar and say, “I’m taking this, though,” around their straw.

 

Keith was grinning at no one in particular as he took a long sip from his own drink. Lance eyed him closely before nudging him a little. “So how about those shots?” Lance suggested.

 

“Yes!” Keith said, whirling to set down his drink an grab a shot from the counter. He almost knocked a few over, but thanks to Pidge’s lightning-fast reflexes, didn’t cause any casualties. “One for you, one for me,” he said, doling out shots between himself and Lance.

 

“Two for you, two for me,” Lance finished, smiling. “So what do we do with this last shot?” he asked, holding up a nearly fluorescent blue shot. He gave Pidge the puppy dog eyes, which never failed to work their charm.

 

“Oh, _fine_ , I’ll take it,” Pidge said, reaching over and plucking it from Lance’s grasp.

 

“Yay!” Keith said, herding his shots into a huddle on the counter in front of him. “Okay, one, two, three—“

 

The trio all took the first shot together, and Lance and Keith continued taking theirs until a stack of plastic shot glasses formed a leaning tower on the counter. Lance let out a whoop and grabbed Pidge around the middle, lifting them into the air. Keith laughed as he avoided wild kicks aimed at anything and everything in the vicinity. When Lance finally set them down, he grabbed both Keith and Pidge's hands and dragged them toward the dance floor. Once again joining the mass of bodies milling about under the flashing strobe lights, they all hollered song lyrics and had a great time.

 

Pidge then excused themself to go to the restroom, leaving Keith and Lance stuck in the middle of the crowd. Eventually, the crowd jostled them so much that Keith and Lance were standing chest-to-chest. Both of their faces were bright red, although they were disguised by the lights around them. Flowing with the crowd's motions, they started to move back and forth; Lance looked over the top of Keith's head and sighed. 

 

"Don't make this weird," he muttered, loud enough for Keith to hear, right before placing his hands on Keith's waist. "I'm sorry, I just literally don't know what to do with my hands."

 

Keith blinked at him for an agonizing moment before bursting into laughter. "It's fine," he said, doing the same to Lance. Now they were embracing each other, each using the other as a lifeline in the sea of drunk bar-goers.

 

The music changed to a pop song, but the boys didn't notice. Their eyes met, because the didn't have anywhere else to look. And their arms were around each other, because there was nowhere else to put them. The combination of the alcohol, loud music, close proximity, and touch was overwhelming; it was compelling.

 

Lance found himself leaning in, angling his face just a little, and he noticed Keith doing the same. His heart was going a mile a minute; he wasn't sure if it was just the atmosphere, or the alcohol, but the anticipation was damn near enough to kill him. They were so close, now, and their noses were grazing each other... _It's happening, oh my god oh my GOD_ , Lance thought, internally screaming. He braced himself for a kiss, but found himself being pushed away instead.

 

"Oh, _fuck_ ," Keith said, turning on his heel and racing to the nearest trashcan to hurl into it.

 

Lance let out a wordless exclamation and followed him, snagging Pidge by the arm as they walked past.

 

"Keith, are you okay?" Pidge asked, suddenly being made aware that their friend was puking into a trash can. "This is why we don't have eleven drinks."

 

Lance reached out a tentative hand and placed it on Keith's back, hoping the gesture was comforting. "Should we take him home?" he asked.

 

Pidge looked at Keith, who was now leaning on his forearms over the trash can. Looking back to Lance, they nodded and shouted over the music, "Yeah, I think so. Would you mind sitting in the backseat with him?"

 

Lance's heart almost exploded at the mere suggestion, but he nodded and wrapped one of Keith's arms around his shoulders. "Alright, buddy, let's get you home."

 

Keith mumbled something incoherent, and Lance looked desperately over at Pidge. "Does this happen often?"

 

"Nope. He must have had a _terrible_ week."

 

"Do you think he'll remember tonight?"

 

Pidge shrugged as well as they could with Keith's other arm around them. "Who's to say?"

 

"I was afraid you were going to say that."

 

#

 

 The next morning, Keith found himself in bed with a splitting headache, but thankfully not _too_ gross of a feeling in his mouth. He silently thanked Pidge for forcing him to brush his teeth. Dragging his ass out of bed, he trudged into the living room to find Pidge on his couch. 

 

They looked up from their phone. "He lives!"

 

"Ha, ha. Very funny." Ow. Talking hurt. "Why do I feel like a garbage truck hit me?"

 

"Because you puked at the club, fam," Pidge replied, tapping at their screen without looking. "I guess I didn't make you drink enough water last night. My bad."

 

Keith waved absently and continued his pilgrimage to the kitchen for painkillers. "I remember us going out to the dance floor, but not much about that or what happened after we left." He popped a few pills into his mouth and chugged a glass of water.

 

"Well, you danced with _Lance_ , for one."

 

Keith groaned. "Great."

 

"He didn't seem to mind. But you did hurl right before the big kiss, so...that was your bad."

 

Keith groaned louder. "Why do I do this to myself."

 

"If it makes you feel better, he wants to forget the whole thing."

 

Keith put his head in his arms on the countertop. "I don't know if it makes me feel better, but I guess we can just move on and write it off as drunk us being wasted."

 

Pidge nodded, and Keith kept his head buried in his arms. _Why am I like this._

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I forgot to put this in the original post so I’ll add it—while it’s mentioned in the tags, these sections are where the bullying/homophobia/implication of self-harm/bad mental state comes up. 
> 
> If you would like to skip that part:
> 
> The first section starts at “ _Oh fuck._ “Um...” Lance shrunk back a little. “Watch it?” And ends at “Keith was livid.” 
> 
> The second section starts at “Boy I know that feeling.” And ends at “Keith looked at Lance with new eyes.” 
> 
> I’ll post what happens vaguely in the end notes!

Keith's breath caught in his throat as he watched Lance enter the party. He was wearing a pair of ripped skinny jeans, a loose, cropped tank top, and a pair of pink sunglasses on his head. His smile was blinding, nearly knocking the wind out of Keith. The light blue top was nearly luminous in the black lights, reflecting color back onto Lance's beautiful tan skin.

 

Keith had never seen anything more gorgeous in his entire life.  
  
"Earth to emo—come in, emo," a high, nasally voice rang in his ear. He turned to see Pidge standing there, smirk on their face.  
  
"Very funny, Pidge," he replied, playfully shoving them on the shoulder. "I'm not emo anymore—don't believe the lies Matt tells you."  
  
"Whatever you say, Barb."  
  
"Well," Keith said thoughtfully, "maybe I'm still a little emo." The pair grinned at each other, then returned their gaze to the party.  
  
"So you gonna ask him out, or what?" Pidge said, nudging Keith with their elbow. “I know you wanna.”

  
Keith spluttered, flapping his hands and whacking them against his legs. "N-no, ew, I hate that guy. What? Why would you even think that?” He said.  
  
“Seriously?” Pidge was less than amused. “Seriously. You. Hating Lance. After the last few weeks. That’s the biggest load of bullshit I’ve ever heard.”

 

Keith only looked down at them with wide eyes.

 

Pidge gave him a Cheshire smile and waggled their eyebrows at him. "Then why do you always stare at him like you wanna eat him for breakfast?"  
  
Keith blushed violently. "I'm sorry, what?"  
  
"You know—if you stare any longer, you'll pop a raging hard-on." Pidge lifted an eyebrow. "Also, you're drooling."  
  
Keith instinctively swiped the back of his hand across his lips, and after finding them dry, he glared at them. "Not funny, asshole."  
  
Pidge laughed at him and turned to yell into the crowd, "Yo, Álvarez!"  
  
Lance whipped his head around, confused for a moment, then recognized who caught his attention and grinned. He waved at Pidge, and Keith tried his best to avoid detection; to his dismay, Pidge dragged him out from behind their back.  
  
"’Sup, nerd," Lance said, swaggering up to Pidge. He looked over their shoulder and acknowledged Keith with a nod.

 

Keith nodded back, replying with a soft, “Hey, Lance.” He felt his face start to heat up as he watched Pidge and Lance banter; Lance may have looked beautiful from a distance, but up close he was stunning. It took a lot of self control for Keith not to gravitate toward him like he was the sun.  
  
"—at's up?"  
  
Keith blinked dumbly at the source of the question, repeating, "What?"  
  
Lance raised his eyebrows. "You doing okay? I was asking what's up."  
  
Pidge snickered, and Keith had to resist the urge to shove them roughly. "Sorry—nothing much. Got here about twenty-ish minutes ago. And to answer your other question—yeah I’m fine. A little on edge, though. Might get high."  
  
Lance smirked and said, "Really? You got plans?”

  
Keith shrugged as nonchalantly as he could. "If you know anyone who's got anything, I wouldn't mind checking it out." Pidge rolled their eyes and groaned loudly, definitely earning them a shove. “I don't really _do_ parties that well. You remember the _last_ one I went to.”

  
Lance pursed his lips, nodding in understanding. "True. Although a lot has changed since then.” His gaze raked over Keith’s figure briefly before settling casually on Keith’s face. “Well...I think Nyma just refreshed her stash. Wanna go look for her with me?" Lance asked, leisurely shifting his weight to a single hip.  
  
Following the movement with his eyes, he felt himself start to sweat as he replied, "Sure." Keith looked at Pidge. "You cool if we leave you?"

  
He tried to communicate, “ _Please let us leave you_ ,” telepathically with his eyes, and they shrugged, shoving their hands into deep hoodie pockets. "Whatever, dude, just take it easy. You have KTC tomorrow, right?" Keith nodded, and they lightly punched him in the arm. "Cool. Don't want to piss off Thace again. I'm gonna go find Hunk. Laters." And with that, they vanished. Lance gestured toward the other side of the house with his head, and Keith headed with him in that direction.

  
"KTC?" Lance asked over his shoulder as they waded through partygoers.  
  
"Oh yeah. Community theater," Keith said. He cringed as he was manhandled by a fraternity bro, who prevented him from explaining further.

  
"Watch it, dude," Lance said after him, and the big guy turned on him.  
  
"Excuse me?" The guy asked angrily. Lance realized he’d made a terrible mistake.

  
_Oh fuck_. "Um..." Lance shrunk back a little. “Watch it?”

  
"Lance, it's fine," Keith mumbled.  
  
"Yeah, listen to your girlfriend, douche," the guy said, pushing Lance out of his way. He stumbled with the force of the push, falling into Keith’s arms.  


Keith felt himself grow hot with anger as he set Lance on his feet. "I'm a dude, dickwad," he bit out. The guy turned on him, lifting his eyebrows in surprise.  
  
"Coulda' fooled me. Get the fuck outta my way. Fucking twinks don’t belong here, anyway." The toolbag shoved past the two of them, calling out loudly to one of his buddies.  
  
 Lance watched him go, open-mouthed, as he muttered, “I didn’t even think Nyma _knew_ people like him. Musta’ been Rolo…” He turned back to resume the conversation with Keith but thought twice when he saw the look on his face.

 

Keith was livid.  
  
"What the _fuck_ kind of people were invited to this party?" He growled, tugging at his clothes. "I fucking hate assholes like him.”

  
"For what it's worth, I do too. Honestly," Lance said, looking blindly around the crowd in an attempt to play off the seriousness of the moment, "I kinda used to be like him. When I was a teenager."  
  
Keith looked at him in surprise. “Wait, really?"  
  
Lance spotted a quiet corner they could chill in and dragged him over. "Yeah." Now that they had some breathing room, Lance continued. "You know how people who are really insecure sometimes become total douchebags because they're compensating?" He asked. Keith nodded.  
  
Lance took a deep breath. "Well, I was hella insecure in high school, especially. I had older siblings who were gonna be doctors, and lawyers, and I just...wanted to do musical theater. I wanted to be an actor. I was the comedian of the family, and honestly, I was pretty well suited for it." He looked up at Keith and shrugged. "I mean, come on, look at me. I love being the center of attention."  
  
Keith laughed a little at that, and a small smile tugged at the corner of Lance's mouth. "But of course, my family was convinced I wouldn't have a good life as an actor. There were certain...insinuations about guys in theater, in addition to it being a competitive market. They didn't want me to get hurt. Unfortunately, their attempts to hold me back only hurt worse." Lance wrapped his arms around himself. "I mean, they let me try out for plays and musicals my high school put on...gave me voice lessons...but they never really fully supported me? They only indulged me because they thought it was just a fun hobby." Keith nodded. "But it wasn't just a hobby—the more shows I was in, the more addicted to it I was."  
  
"Boy, I know that feeling," Keith muttered, and Lance gave him a breathy laugh in response.  
  
"Yeah." Lance took a breath and continued. "Anyway, I became insecure about my future, and my sophomore year, something...changed. I turned into someone I didn't recognize—a bully. I stopped singing and dancing and instead hung out with some guys who didn't _really_ like me." He sighed. “I guess the repressed biphobia didn’t do much to change that, either.” He pointed in the direction of the guy who had harassed them. "I turned into that almost overnight.  
  
“I was left with virtually no friends—all of my friends were in theater, so when I quit, I was leaving everyone behind. My dad basically planned to force me into corporate finance, so I started beefing up on math classes. I was okay at it, sure, but not awesome. Not as good as I am at this, honestly. But I was scared. I wasn't secure in my new future and wanted to take it out on someone. _Anyone._ I remember it like it was yesterday—Jimmy Coronado was practicing in the stairwell for the next musical, and the guys I hung out with wanted to jump him—you know, scare him a little. Pissing contest. At the last minute, I hung back, but I didn't call anyone—I didn't try to help...I just stood there like an idiot. A dumb idiot. The look on his face hasn't left my mind to this day, and that was over five years ago."  
  
"So what happened?" Keith prodded. Lance looked at him, surprised. "Well, you said something changed. What happened?"  
  
"Oh." Lance bit his lip. "Well, actually, my sister decided to put me in a headlock and threaten me within an inch of my life. It was apparent at home that I wasn’t acting like myself, and Maria decided I was getting an ass-kicking if I didn’t have an attitude adjustment.” He laughed at the memory. “She probably saved my life, there.”

 

“Oh really?” Keith prodded.

 

“Yeah, I uh...I kind of had a dark moment that scared me a week or so before the wake-up call. I felt like I wasn't really part of a group, you know? I didn't have a squad like my brothers and sister did. But after Maria knocked me back into line, I rejoined the theatre group, was welcomed with open arms, and never looked back,” Lance admitted.

 

Keith looked at Lance with new eyes. When they first met, he’d only seen a cocky, full-of-himself asshole, but now, he saw a guy just...trying to do something he loved at the risk of disappointing his family. He couldn't help but stare, prompting Lance to shift uncomfortably and retort, “What are _you_ looking at?”

 

 _A hottie with a body,_ Keith’s brain supplied. _No, stop it, brain—I do not need your sass right now. I’m trying to be helpful_. “Nothing, just zoned out,” he replied. Lance nodded absent-mindedly, and the pair sat in silence until a tall girl stood before them, tossing her braids over a shoulder.

 

Clad in teal jodhpurs and a yellow crop top, the girl grinned down at Lance and blew a smoke ring at him. “Sup, loser.”

 

Lance smacked his thighs with a “Nyma!” and stood up, wrapping her in a hug. “There you are! We went looking for you.”

 

Nyma stared at him with a raised eyebrow for a moment, then looked over at Keith. “You…both were?” Slinging an arm around Lance’s neck and dragging him a short distance away to talk privately, she whispered, “Leo, I thought you hated this dude.”

 

“Dude, _chilllll_ , we’re Gucci now. Apparently. I’ll explain later. Also, have you seen him? Have you seen that _ass_?” Lance whispered back, and the two craned their necks to get a good look at Keith, who had just stood up to stretch. “Ten-out-of-ten. Beauty. Also he has a voice that would make the gods cry.”

 

Nyma’s eyebrow shot up to join the other. “Whoa, never thought I'd hear you admit to _that_ , asere.”

 

Lance gestured wildly, exclaiming, “ _Right?_ But after actually hanging around and rehearsing with him, he's...way cooler than expected…” He trailed off, looking over at Keith, who’d started observing other party goers anxiously. “Speaking of, where'd you get _that_ ,” he said, poking at the pipe in Nyma's hand. “And where can we get some.”

 

Nyma grinned, teeth glowing in the blacklight, and gestured for the pair to follow her upstairs.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! So here’s the gist of those sections I mentioned: 
> 
> This jerk pushes Keith out of the way and says some really shitty things to him and Lance, which prompts Lance telling a personal story. Lance’s parents didn’t think he could have a future in theater so he was _strongly encouraged_ to pursue another career (finance). He left theater, got in with a group of people who were jerks and bullies, but eventually his sister helped him have a wake-up call. After that, he rejoined his theater friends and decided to pursue what he wanted to! Keith is realizing that Lance is a lot more complex than he thought. 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! I’ll hopefully have the rest up soon.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> here come the drugs and Lance hits on Keith. Keith is confusion incarnate.
> 
> (tw: marijuana use; heavy drinking; drunkenness)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everyone, sorry this is taking so long to come out--it'll be coming out gradually as I finish it. I really hoped this would be out sooner than now, but things have been less than awesome for me physical health-wise and motivation-wise. I hope you have enjoyed the story and I hope you like this chapter! please comment and leave kudos if you like it!

“There are definitely perks to dating the dealer’s sibling,” Nyma said over her shoulder.

 

“Really? I didn't know you were dating anyone,” Keith said as they climbed.

 

Lance laughed. “Keith, you barely know anything that’s going on with the rest of the cast.” He snorted when Keith tried to shove him in retaliation.

 

Nyma threw him a sympathetic look and shrugged. She pushed open the door to the balcony and replied, “It's cool. You know them, though—yo, Bee!” She waved at someone with cute pastel hair, wearing jean shorts and a tank top. They ran over to the trio, obviously pleased to see Nyma.

 

“Where'd you go? You took the pipe with you and bounced!” They said, crossing their arms and trying to suppress a grin. “We missed you, boo.”

 

“Sorry, honey, I got to talking to these losers and was distracted. They've come to join the cool kids though.” Turning to Keith and winking, she said, “New Guy, meet my datemate, Bee. I’m sure you already know, but Bee’s playing Nancy D. and the Waitress in the show.”

 

Bee gave him a little wave. “Hi, New Guy. You must be Keith—it's a pleasure to actually see you in public!” They held out a hand, which Keith nervously shook, and turned their attention to Lance and gave him a sheepish smile and a wink of their own. “Hey, Lance.”

 

“Bee, really? In front of me?” Nyma asked playfully, lightly knocking them on the shoulder.

 

“What!! I'm saying hi to a dear friend—I didn’t do anything bad!”

 

Lance laughed, pretending to separate the pair, “Now pals, there's more than enough to go around,” he said, winking. Keith laughed while the couple groaned, making comments about how lame that line was. Nyma and Lance began to chat, leaving Keith and Bee to stand quietly next to each other and survey the balcony.

 

Keith noticed a pair of cat-ear headphones around Bee's neck. Swallowing hard, and in an attempt to diffuse some of the awkwardness, he said, “I like your headphones."

 

Bee looked down at them and smiled. “Thanks! Nyma got them for me for my birthday.” They put them on their head and posed, hands framing their face. “They’ve got little cat ears.”

 

The motion caught Nyma's attention, and she rolled her eyes and wrapped an arm around them, kissing their cheek. “You’re adorable. Do you know if Rolo has any more stuff, by the way? I don’t think there’s much of anything in here.” She tapped the pipe she was holding, looking around for the man in question. “Ah, there he is—hey, Rolo! Where the weed at?” She yelled, walking over to him.

 

“For the love of…” Lance facepalmed. “Really, Nyma? We’re on the fucking balcony.”

 

“What? It’s California, dude—totally legal,” Nyma said, smirking and walking backwards, now. “Well...except we definitely have more than an ounce...and none of us have cards, but like...that’s fine.” She shrugged. “We’re fine.”

 

Lance just shook his head, muttering, “Por dios, gonna get us all arrested…” under his breath. Keith tried and failed to stifle a laugh, earning himself a glare.

 

“Oh, hush, Keith—you’re from Texas,” Lance retorted as he removed his hands from his face.

 

Keith tried to look as nonchalant as he could. “What? I wasn’t laughing. That was Bee!”

 

“Hey! Don’t drag me into this!” they yelled over their shoulder as they followed Nyma over to where their brother was standing.

 

“Sorry, Bee,” Keith called out after them.

 

“Love you, boo.”

 

Lance laughed and grabbed Keith’s arm, dragging him after Nyma and her datemate. They joined the circle on the balcony, Lance introducing Keith when it was pertinent. Keith stood silently, taking a hit when prompted, but not saying much else. Lance kept looking at him strangely, and once Keith had passed over the pipe, nudged him.

 

“You okay?” he said under his breath.

 

Keith nodded, casting anxious glances at the rest of the group. “Yeah. I’m okay. Just...I don’t do well with strangers, you know?”

 

“These guys aren’t so bad—and most of them are in the show. But I get what you mean. You don’t really hang out with them outside of rehearsal, do you?” Lance asked, pupils dilated. Keith noted that his mouth was _really_ close to his cheek.

 

“No, I don’t. I spend more of my time with Shiro, honestly. I live with him, after all.”

 

“Well,” Lance said, tapping his chin, “I guess you’ll just have to hang out at my and Hunk’s place more often, then. Take a break from Mister Stuffy-pants.”

 

Keith’s stony complexion was cracked by a small smile. “Mister Stuffy-pants? Really?”

 

“Yeah, duh, weren’t you _listening_?”

 

“I think that’s probably the worst nickname I’ve ever heard, Lance,” Keith said, snickering. His head had started to feel a little fuzzy, but he didn’t mind. His body had finally started to relax; he no longer felt uncomfortable, which was a mercy, because he was still surrounded by strangers. And Lance being nearby made it a little easier, too, even if it was a little difficult for Keith to admit. He was actually starting to feel like being around him was...pleasant, to say the least. As long as he kept that _enormous_ crush he was harboring on the down-low.

 

He peered out of the corner of his eye at the man, who was laughing loudly with a few other veteran cast members, and sipped from a beer he’d gotten from the cooler. They'd been separated for the moment, leaving Keith space to ogle at will. _God, why does he have to be so hot?_ He caught himself thinking.

 

“You like him, don’t you?” a soft voice said behind him.

 

Keith whirled around to confront whoever spoke, an angry retort on his lips, but stopped when he noticed Bee standing in front of him.

 

They looked at him with a soft smile. “It’s okay, I won’t tell anyone. You just look at him a lot, and your body language kind of gives it away. He’s a good guy though—you shouldn’t feel bad or anything for having feelings for him.”

 

Keith blinked at them, his mind a little sluggish from the drugs, and furrowed his eyebrows. “Is it really that obvious?” he asked, looking anxiously over his shoulder at the main group; or more accurately, at Lance.

 

“Yeah, but that’s okay,” they replied. “I mean, I’m not oblivious—I think he’s hot, too. So does Nyma, and pretty much the entire theatre department.” They pulled a face, almost like they were about to regret the words coming out of their mouth next, “I think the only reason he's still single is that he’s a little...much.”

 

“Much?” Keith asked, raising an eyebrow and sipping from his drink.

 

“Yeah, much. They think he’s…” they looked like they were searching for a word, “obnoxious? Extra? We love the guy, but unfortunately, most of the people who think he’s hot don’t actually wanna date him.” They sighed, looking sadly over at him. “It’s a shame, really. He’s a sweet guy. I wish people weren’t assholes.”

 

That struck Keith as odd. “Wait, seriously? Just because he’s got a big personality and talks a lot? I mean, it can get annoying, sure, but he has _friends_ —there’ve gotta be some good qualities, right?”

 

They nodded vigorously. “Oh, sure! He’s super sweet—very thoughtful, actually. You’d not really think so from the outside—he’s a drama queen—but my car was stuck in the sand at the beach one evening and he stayed for _three hours_ to help me get it out. He didn’t have to do that, especially since everyone else left, but he stuck around with me anyway.” Biting their lip, Bee gave Keith a strange look. “This may be out of line, but...do you _actually_ like him?”

 

Keith was taken aback. _Like him_? He thought. _Well, sure._ “I mean, like would I go out with him if he asked, kind of like? And actually want to go out, not just like, fuck or whatever. Right?”

 

Bee nodded, and he pursed his lips before responding. “Yeah. I would. I do, I mean. Working with him has actually grown on me, to be honest. We’ve gotten to know each other way better.”

 

Bee’s face lit up at that response, and Keith felt a little lighter. “That’s great,” they replied. “I’m really, really glad. You seem like a good guy, and you’re hot, too, so I think that you’ve got a pretty good shot. That is, if you wanted to take it.”

 

Keith blushed and opened his mouth to reply, but he cut himself off when a long, tan arm draped itself across his shoulders. Looking over at his right shoulder with surprise, he found Lance’s face hovering incredibly close to his.

 

“Heeey, sexy lady,” Lance drawled, grinning stupidly at him. Keith’s eyebrows shot up, and he tried to escape Lance’s grip, but he was trapped.

 

“H-hey, Lance,” Keith stammered, a little shell-shocked that Lance was so close, and he was waaaay more drunk than he had been earlier, if the obvious attempts at an ass-grab weren’t enough of a tell. Lance’s lips ghosted over his ear, making him shiver involuntarily. Blood roared in his ears and all he could think was _ohmygod too close, too close too close._

 

He sent Bee a look of desperation, and they sprung into action. “Hey, Lance, how are you feeling?” Bee asked, carefully removing Lance’s arm from Keith’s shoulders. They mouthed “ _I got this_ ,” to him, and Keith mouthed back, “ _Thank you_.” He was not in the mood to deal with drunk, horny Lance—especially after his confession to Bee. He watched the two of them head back over to the cooler, from which Lance was surely going to get a water bottle, and rubbed the back of his neck with a gloved hand.

 

“Wow, he’s drunk.” Keith turned in the direction of the comment as Nyma joined his side, shaking her head. “Bee’s an angel. But also, they know that I’m less than delicate with Drunk Leo.”

 

“Why do you call him that, anyway?” Keith asked, curious.

 

Nyma grinned at him. “Oh, we’ve been friends since high school. We both were in a bunch of shows together, and we had a production of the Wizard of Oz.” Nyma laughed, “He got cast as the Cowardly Lion. Oooh, he was _so mad!_ It was hysterical. I was Dorothy, so we spent a _lot_ of time together.”

 

“Where are you guys from?”

 

“Well, we both grew up in Miami, we’re Cuban, and like acting and musical theater...we clicked really quickly and soon terrorized the theater department for the remainder of high school,” she continued, unable to keep a smile off her face.

 

Keith was puzzled. “But...that doesn't actually explain anything.”

 

“Ohhh, right, right, right. Well, since he played the Cowardly Lion, and his birthday is in July, I joked around and called him Leo a couple times during rehearsal—eventually, the name stuck around. It’s kind of stupid, but—” she shrugged, “—we’re close.”

 

Keith nodded in understanding, allowing his eyes to wander over to where Lance stood, sipping water with hooded eyes and a slight sway. “So were you guys ever…?”

 

“Together? Nah. It was pretty obvious he was into me for a little while, but he’s not my type,” she said, winking.

 

“Hey, Nyma?” The woman in question turned around and grunted when she got an armful of drunk Lance.   “Oh, sorry. I think he needs to go home…” Bee looked at their girlfriend and Keith apologetically. “He insisted we come over here again, and I was afraid he’d trip and knock his teeth out.”

 

Nyma leaned over Lance’s moderately limp form, so she could get closer to Bee, and kissed them. “You’re fine, no problem. Keith, do you mind helping me get him down the stairs? You’re admittedly stronger than Bee, and I know for a fact I can’t get him down the stairs alone.” Her face was strained as she started to sink under his dead weight.

 

Keith looked over at Bee hesitantly and they shrugged. “She isn’t wrong,” they admitted.

 

Keith sighed with resignation and nodded, looping one of Lance’s limp noodle arms around his neck. It seemed like Lance had passed out on the trip over to them; that was a little more than a little concerning. Together, they grit their teeth and carried Lance down the stairs and into the living room. The thrum of the bass shook the walls, and the overhead lights had been turned off in favor of strobes. Keith squinted, having a little difficulty making his way through the throng of bodies.

 

“Hey, it’s okay, we can take him to my room,” Nyma said, noticing his distress and gesturing with her head toward a hallway. “Follow me.”

 

With great effort, they carried Lance down the hall and into Nyma’s bedroom. It was decorated with bright colors and fairy lights that cast a warm glow in the otherwise dark room. Keith looked around, mesmerized, before he was shocked back into reality by a startled Lance.

 

“Wha- Where am I?” Lance slurred, trying to wrest himself from Keith’s and Nyma’s grip. He was squirming so much that Nyma had to drop him, leaving Keith to carry all the weight. He was so caught off-guard that he tumbled backward onto the bed, taking Lance with him.

 

“...Keith?” Lance asked, blinking hard as if that would clear the intoxicated haze he’d been experiencing. When he realized where he was, and more importantly, who he was on top _of_ , his mood changed immediately. A dopey smile appeared and he repeated, “Keeeeeith.” Repositioning himself so he was lying directly on top of Keith, he crossed his arms over Keith’s head and looked down on him. “Hey there,” he said, blinking lazily. His voice was a little hoarse from all the activities of the evening, and he practically glowed under the warm lights of the room.

 

Keith was frozen. It was like time had stopped, or slowed down to a crawl, and he had astrally projected out of his body. _Ohhh god._ He thought. He desperately tried to get a look at Nyma, but she’d already slipped out of the room. _Damn it!_ He internally screamed. _This is not what I wanted to happen today! Or how I wanted it to happen!_ He tried his hardest to think of _anything_ else besides the heat of Lance’s body on his, tried to resist the allure of the dark blue eyes that were gazing down at him. Lance didn’t really help when he decided to _straddle him_.

 

Keith choked. _He’s super intoxicated, it’s not him_ — _he’s just acting like this because I’m the only person here. It’s not because it’s_ me. _He could care less about me,_ Keith’s thoughts were like a whirlpool, looming ominously below him as he stood at the precipice of a decision. He could stop Lance right now, shove him away, throw a blanket over him and be done with it, or...he could see where this went.

 

He felt Lance’s fingers start to creep past the waistband of his jeans, and he shot into a sitting position; the force of his movement bowled Lance over onto the bed beside him. Thankfully, he was like a big piece of spaghetti from the alcohol and just flopped over, rather than thrashing around and falling to the floor. “Nope, nope, not today, Satan—nuh-uh, ohh-kay, I’ll uh...I’ll catch you later, Lance. Lie on your side so you don’t choke or whatever, apparently that’s like, a tip or something…’kay bye,” Keith practically shouted at Lance, who just sat and watched him with a puzzled expression. Keith zoomed out the door and slammed it shut before sliding down it, chest heaving.

 

“That bad, huh?”

 

Keith looked up and saw Nyma staring down at him with a raised eyebrow and an amused smirk. “I don’t know what you mean.”

 

“Well, the last I saw, Lance was pretty excited to be alone with you, so…” she replied, crossing her arms. She looked like she had expected something to happen between the two of them, and that thought alone was enough to turn Keith as red as a tomato.

 

He let his head fall backwards, forgetting about the door, and whacked his head hard with a _thump_. He winced at the pain, squinting up at Nyma again. “I know what you’re thinking, but no, nothing happened.”

 

Nyma looked genuinely surprised at that, and Keith couldn’t help but feel a little awkward. And confused? It didn’t make sense that she would have expected anything to happen unless... _Nah,_ Keith thought, _no way._ “I wouldn’t take advantage of anyone—especially not someone that wasted,” he continued. “No matter _how_ hot they were.”

 

Nyma shrugged at him. “Fair enough. And probably smart—I think that would have made rehearsal on Monday a little difficult.”

 

Keith groaned and put his head in his hands, “Oh god, rehearsal...Do you think he’ll remember?” He asked.

 

“It’s _doubtful_? But I never know with that guy. He was pretty out of it, though. Maybe you’ll get lucky and he won’t remember,” Nyma replied. “What even happened in there?”

 

“Nothing! I mean, well... he sort of tried to pin me down, and he definitely was doing a little more exploring than he should have been…” Keith said, unable to make eye contact with her.

 

Nyma was unamused. “So basically, nothing happened—is that what you’re telling me?”

 

“No, I mean, nothing happened because I stopped it from happening,” Keith explained. “But something would have happened if I just let him...do whatever.” He sighed and scooted over on the floor to make room for Nyma. She sat down beside him and leaned her head back. Keith reached up and rubbed the back of his neck, unable to look over at her in his embarrassment. “It’s not that I didn’t _want._ I just...I’d rather us be _both_ lucid for that.”

 

“So,” Nyma started, and Keith could hear the unasked questions that laced her voice, “what are you going to do now, then?”

 

“What do you mean?” Keith asked.

 

“Well, Lance is passed out, you don’t know where Pidge is, and you're drunk. How are you getting home?” She replied, raising an eyebrow at him.

 

Keith shrugged. “I’m not sure, honestly. I know I can’t drive myself—that much is painfully clear—but I don’t wanna ask Shiro to drive me back…”

 

Nyma nudged him gently with her shoulder and offered, “You could always stay here, we have a couch upstairs you can use. Nobody should bother you up there, especially if we just kind of barricade the room off.” She chuckled. “You should stay. You can always just leave super early once you’ve sobered up.”

 

Keith nodded. That was true. It would just be safer, anyway. Too many friends had gotten in accidents that way, and he knew his risk increased tenfold on his bike. “Thanks, Nyma,” he replied.

 

She smiled and pushed herself to her knees so she could use the wall for support as she stood. “You’re welcome! Besides, you may be able to convince Lance to have breakfast with you.”

 

“Oh, _shit_ ,” Keith blurted. “I just realized, I have community theater tomorrow. _Fuck_.” He felt his anxiety level rising.

 

“Oh, damn, what time do you have to be there?” She asked, making a face.

 

He pulled out his phone to pore over an email and mumbled, “Umm…” He scanned it, looking for the bolded type, and…”noon. Oh, thank god.” He let out a huge sigh of relief, turning slightly when he saw Nyma’s teeth glowing next to him. “What.”

 

“Now you can ask Lance to have breakfast with you!” she squealed. Keith quickly clamped a hand over her mouth and looked around frantically. It would not do to have someone overhear, regardless of how drunk the group was.

 

He jerked backward with an “EUGH!” when something wet and warm dragged across his palm, and he glared at Nyma when she started to shake from cackling so hard. “Seriously? What are you, four?”

 

“Nope, I’m just reeeeaal drunk,” she replied, giving Keith a lopsided smile. “You know, I think you’d be a good match for Lance.”

 

The comment took Keith by total surprise. “ _What?_ ” He asked, incredulous. “Where the fuck did that come from?”

 

Nyma gave him an exaggerated shrug. “Bitch, I don’t know,” she replied. “I’m mega cross-faded and I just really want some cheese fries, man.” Her head lolled on Keith’s shoulder, and he just shook his head.

 

“I don’t think Lance is the only one who needs to go to sleep,” he murmured, slipping an arm around her and hauling the both of them to their feet. “Off to bed with you!”

 

“I need my datemaaaate,” Nyma whined, reaching out and pulling on Keith’s now-unruly hair. “Take me to them!”

 

Keith huffed in exasperation and dragged her up the stairs to go find Bee. He felt like he was jogging through peanut butter—his brain muddled by the drugs and alcohol, and his body weighed down by exhaustion. It made getting Nyma to her partner infinitely more difficult than it would have been hours earlier, when no one was nearly as intoxicated as they were now.

 

After depositing a whining Nyma into an apologetic Bee’s arms, he slogged down the short flight of stairs to the second floor living room and the couch there. He collapsed face-first onto the worn cushions and promptly passed out.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is only half-finished but it was written and I haven't posted anything in ages. I have my qualifying exam due tomorrow, i'm at the library finishing up final edits, and found this in my Word docs, so here you go. I hope you enjoy it. It's only a little edited, sorry for any glaring errors.

 

The first thing Lance noticed when he woke up the next morning was a splitting headache. The second thing was how fucking _bright_ it was in the room. The third was that he was in Nyma’s bed. Alone.

 

That was...more disappointing than he’d like to admit, if he was being honest with himself. He only remembered bits and pieces of the night before, but something he did remember was the warmth he felt radiating from Keith’s body as Lance hovered over him.

 

Oh god. _Keith._ Lance started to panic. _What happened? Did I scare him off? Oh god, what do I do now?_ He thought frantically. This was _bad._ Really bad. Like...really, really bad. He was just starting to think that Keith was his _friend_ , and they’d been _flirting,_ and then he goes and pulls that kind of shit? What other stunts did he pull? He’d have to get a recap from Nyma and Bee because the whole night was just one big blurry mess in his brain.

 

He remembered that he had way too much to drink, that was for damn certain; his headache was a testament to that.

 

Groaning, he pushed himself to a sitting position and rubbed his eyes. He threw out a hand to grope around for his phone, checked the time with bleary eyes and groaned louder. It was 8:30. He wasn’t even given the chance to sleep until mid-morning? Seriously? Lance cursed his body’s inability to go back to sleep once he’d awoken and dragged himself out of bed. Once his feet hit the floor, he was hit with a wave of nausea that nearly knocked him onto his ass.

 

Lance tried his best not to gag as he trudged to Nyma’s bathroom, running a shaky hand through tangled brown locks. His worst fears were confirmed the minute he looked in the mirror: without washing his face, little red blemishes had started to appear on his cheeks. “Ugh, god, what a curse,” he grumbled, trying to resist the urge to mess with it. _This is why I use face masks every fuckin’ night,_ he thought, frowning and scanning Nyma’s counter for anything that looked like a face wash.

 

“Oh, thank god,” he breathed, finding an adequate alternative, and leaned over to splash his face with water...which was a huge mistake, because the movement made him want to hurl. A salty, coppery taste filled his mouth and he briefly thought _Oh shit_ before lunging toward the toilet and vomiting.

 

Every cough was as loud as a gunshot, and Lance was positive he was going to wake up every person in the house. Wincing at the burn in the back of his throat, he sat back on his heels and prayed that the nausea would pass. He tried slowly getting up, feeling a little woozy, but not nauseated, and cheered quietly to himself. _Thank god that’s over_ , he thought, clutching his stomach as he returned to the sink to wash the taste of regurgitated booze from his mouth. _Ugh._

 

 _Tap, tap, tap_. “Lance?” A voice said, low and raspy, from outside the door. Lance furrowed his eyebrows and cracked the bathroom door a bit. He was surprised to see Keith standing there in all his glory, complete with dark circles and bedhead.

 

“What are you doing here?” Lance whispered, grimacing at the scratchiness of his voice.

 

Keith compulsively picked at his nails and avoided his gaze. “I, uh...I heard you throwing up, and I was wondering if you needed anything.”

 

Lance’s heart softened a little, and he shook his head. “Nah, I’m great—peachy keen. Don’t worry about me, I just have a wicked hangover. Are you doing okay? Where did you sleep? I wasn’t expecting to see you still here.” Lance’s stomach flip flopped at the way Keith bit his lip as his cheeks reddened.

 

“I was pretty drunk, so Nyma let me crash on the upstairs couch. Didn’t want to drive home. I’m a pretty early riser, so I was actually on my way to the kitchen to get some water,” Keith replied. He looked like he was about to bolt, nervous under Lance’s gaze. _That’s interesting,_ Lance thought.

 

He smiled at Keith and opened the door a little wider so he could join him in the hallway. “I’ll join you, then—I probably should have some water. I’m pretty sure the only reason I’m awake right now is that I’m so dehydrated, I’m practically a raisin.”

 

Keith chuckled a little, and his laugh sounded like music to Lance’s ears. It was husky from sleep and alcohol, giving his ordinarily clear and rich laugh a sexy edge that made Lance’s hair stand on end. His skin was starting to warm, and he knew that it was surely a shade of deep pink by now. _Oh thank god, the kitchen is empty,_ Lance thought, grateful he had this time alone with Keith. Maybe then he could uh, clear a few things up from the night before.

 

Leaning nonchalantly against the counter with a water bottle, Lance looked at Keith with hooded eyes and asked, “So...did you have a good time last night?”

 

He saw the way Keith’s hand froze in midair, halfway out of the refrigerator, clutching a bottle desperately. _That’s not a good sign_ , he thought, panic starting to build in his chest.

 

“Uh...yeah, I did,” Keith replied, slowly bringing the water out into the too-warm kitchen and taking a sip. “Did you?”

 

Lance nodded, Adam’s apple bobbing as he chugged half the bottle in one go. “The night’s a little fuzzy though. Sorry if I did anything weird,” he said, fishing for any clues he could get his hands on. He needed to figure out what happened the night before.

 

Keith’s eyes widened _just_ a little, and he said, “You were okay.” His tone, however, suggested otherwise.

 

“You know,” Lance said, “if I did something shitty, you _can_ tell me.” He hoped that he looked relaxed enough to be convincing.

 

Keith picked at the label on his drink and nodded slowly. “Well…” he began, and Lance’s eyes snapped up to rake across his face. “You did get a little handsy,” he admitted, averting his gaze when a flush started to creep up his neck.

 

Lance blanched. _Fuck, fuck, fuck,_ he thought. _Not good._ Trying to stay calm, he replied, “I’m sorry, sometimes that happens...not that it’s okay! I just really shouldn’t drink around cute guys.”

 

It took Lance a moment to process the words that had just come out of his own mouth. He looked over at Keith with wide eyes and saw that Keith’s jaw had dropped. “Oh, uh...I mean, you’re just not a bad-looking guy, you know? And I’ve gotten to the point where I’m comfortable around you, and sometimes when I’m drunk I just kinda beeline for the people I feel safe around,” he babbled, desperate to recover his dignity. “I’m sorry though—I crossed a line.”

 

Keith picked his jaw up off the floor and coughed before replying, “It’s cool, man. I totally get it—I know it was just drunk you talking, so it’s no biggie.”

 

Lance’s eyebrows lifted at that. “Talking? What did I say?” He asked.

 

“Oh, uh…” Keith looked suddenly very uncomfortable. “You uh, kinda hit on me.”

 

 _Fuck._ “Oh.”

 

“Yeah…” Keith laughed nervously. “But it’s cool—again, I know you were drunk off your butt, so it’s really no big deal.”

 

“Yeah…” Lance mused. “No big deal…”

 

Keith shifted his stance and nodded, taking a sip before asking, “Do you have any breakfast plans?”

 

Lance looked at him in surprise. “Breakfast plans?”

 

“Yeah, I, uh...I have some time before my community theater rehearsal and was planning on getting breakfast beforehand. Would you want to come?”

 

The pair blinked at each other for a moment, until Lance broke the tension and shrugged. “I could really go for some big ol’ fluffy pancakes right about now,” he said. “I’ll get my stuff.”

 

“Didn’t you just hurl, like, four minutes ago?” Keith said after him as he walked back to Nyma’s bedroom.

 

“Yeah—that’s how I even have room to chow down, dude.”

 

Keith grimaced. “That’s gross, man.” Hearing a few frustrated grunts coming from the room, he silently padded over. Keith peered into the room and watched as Lance puttered around, trying to recover his belongings. He’d thrown his keys and wallet somewhere in the direction of Nyma’s laundry pile ( _mistake_ ) and was having a difficult time trying to find them.

 

“Need some help?”

 

Lance whipped his head around, freezing in place under Keith’s gaze. He slowly brought his hand out of the pile he had been digging in, and Keith heard the _clink_ of keys. “M’good. Just took me a minute,” Lance said, wincing as he stretched out his back. “Shall we go?”

 

Keith tried not to stare at the little sliver of tan skin peeking out from underneath Lance’s tank top, but it was impossible to tear his eyes away. He just didn't have the willpower. It took Lance shaking his shoulder gently to jolt him out of his daydreaming, and by that point, it was pretty obvious he was ogling.

 

“You okay, buddy?” Lance asked. “Geez, you must be pretty hungover, huh?”

 

“Hungover?”

 

“Yeah, you just kinda…” Lance waved his hand in front of his face, staring off into space, “zoned out on me there.”

 

Keith blushed and nodded. “Guess I am.”

 

“All the more reason for us to get some carbs, then, huh, mullet?”

 

Lance took off toward the door, Keith wandering after in a daze. He swiped his belongings off the counter and followed Lance outside.

 

Thankfully, Nyma lived a couple of blocks from a dinky little pancake house; Keith didn't think either of them were functional enough to operate a motor vehicle. Lance walked quietly beside him, sunglasses perched on his nose and hair mussed in such a way that had to be intentional.

_He's so fucking_ hot— _how?_ Keith couldn't help but think as he observed out of the corner of his eye. It was like his eyes were magnetized, but only to _Lance_ and his _stupid slim frame._ His shoulders were so broad it amazed Keith that he could even fit through a doorway. _God, what I wouldn't give to drag my nails down those._ Shit, if Keith kept thinking like that, he was going to have some serious problems on his hands.

 

“Sorry again for...ya’ know,” Lance muttered, keeping his eyes on his feet as they walked.

 

Keith stopped, causing Lance to stop walking and turn to look back at him. “Lance.”

 

“What?”

 

Keith looked at him with a gaze that implied there was more to be said. “It’s okay. I just knew you weren’t in your right mind and wouldn’t have felt right if I didn’t stop you. You didn’t assault me, or anything. I promise.”

 

Lance sighed heavily and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Fine.”

 

The pair walked in silence for a block or so, until the name of the restaurant came into view.

 

“Nice,” Lance said. “No line.”

 

Keith nodded, picking up the pace toward the door. Lance followed suit, and with his long legs had no trouble keeping up. Lance reached out, barely touching the handle first and tugging the door open.

 

“After you, m’lady,’ he said, and laughed at the scowl on Keith’s face. “What?”

 

“I’m not a lady,” Keith mumbled, narrowing his eyes at Lance as he walked by.

 

“My apologies,” Lance said as he walked in after him, dropping the door. “My good sir.”

 

“Better.” Keith approached the hostess and they were quickly ushered to a table. As they took a seat, Keith had the fleeting thought that he’d never had a meal alone with Lance before. The revelation made him feel very awkward.

 

“–Are you gonna order?” Lance’s voice cut into his thoughts.

 

Keith looked up dumbly, shifting his gaze between Lance and the waitress.

 

“Uh?” He asked, ever the picture of eloquence, and Lance gave the woman an apologetic smile.

 

“He’s really tired, sorry. Could you come back in a minute or two?”

 

Keith watched the woman walk away, then glanced down at his menu.

 

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “A lot on my mind today.”

 

Lance fixed him with a confused look. “What’s wrong? He asked. “You were fine just a minute ago.”

 

Keith shrugged, keeping his eyes on the laminated paper in front of him.

 

“Just thinking.” He paused for a moment, then sighed. “This is the first time we’ve ever spent any time together alone. Sober. In public. Kind of throwing me off.”

 

Lance’s eyes widened. “Wait, really? That’s so weird. I would have thought we’d been in public alone together before.”

 

Keith shrugged again. “It’s no big _deal_ , just weird.”

 

“Bad weird?”

 

Keith met Lance’s eyes, not failing to miss the undertone of concern.

 

“No,” he replied confidently. “Not bad weird.”

 

Lance relaxed a little, then tapped the top of Keith’s menu. “Hurry up, then, I’m wasting away over here.”

 

Keith chuckled and scanned his options briefly before deciding. “Okay, I’m ready.”

 

“Oh thank _God—_ Excuse me?” Lance got their waitress’s attention and the pair ordered breakfast.

 

The woman walked away, prompting Lance to give Keith his full attention once again.

 

“So what’s this community theater you do?” He asked, lacing his long, tan fingers in front of his face.

 

“It’s Kids That Care. You know, like the program to keep at-risk kids off the street?” Keith gave Lance a wry smile. “I’m only half kidding. It’s how I got into theater, actually. I had a lot of anger issues, so...Shiro’s parents signed me up. Shiro had volunteered there, so when I started punching kids on the playground, he also took me on as a mentee. It was only a little weird.”

 

“Having your brother mentor you?”

 

“Yeah, well. Foster brother. But yeah, having a sibling also make sure you know how to be a person was helpful, in the end.” Keith was staring into his water glass, now, lost in his own thoughts.

 

Lance reached out to poke the top of Keith’s hand. “Your foster brother?”

 

Keith looked up in surprise. “You didn’t know?”

 

“Well, he always referred to you as his brother, I guess it never occurred to me that it wasn’t by blood.”

 

“Oh.” A soft smile appeared on Keith’s face. “Yeah, that was something I always appreciated. He always made me feel like I was part of something. So when he suggested I come here for school, I thought ‘ _well, can’t be worse than things are now.’”_

 

Lance furrowed his eyebrows. “Why _did_ you leave GGU?” He asked, leaning slightly forward and unconsciously covering Keith’s hand with his own.

 

Keith bit his lip and continued to stare into the glistening ice cubes before him.

 

Lance panicked. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” he said, retracting his hand. “I was just curious. You make it sound like it was the worst place on earth.”

 

"At times it felt like it was."

**Author's Note:**

> This fic includes material from the musical “A New Brain”- music and lyrics by William Finn, book by William Finn and James Lapine. All lyrics from the musical (written in italics) and musical plot information comes from the aforementioned production unless otherwise mentioned.


End file.
